W vs O: Renegade
by geeves
Summary: In the aftermath of their latest battle with the yellow eyed demon everyone is left tending to their respective wounds. Just when things are starting to have some semblance of normal again the FBI catch up to the Winchesters. Specifically Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one**

Metallica on the radio, a knife and whetstone in hand, Dean Winchester was going through the motions on auto-pilot. He'd been stuck in his own head a lot lately. Guilt-laden and grief-stricken he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for all this. The aftermath of their latest battle with the yellow-eyed freak had been far worse than almost dying. Burying his father had been bad enough…but knowing that night was directly responsible for the broken state everyone was in right now? It was killing him inside.

As if having to fight with his own emotions wasn't bad enough, he was warding off chic-flick moments _by the hour_. Sam, Fran, Cal…each trying in their own way to cope with the aftermath, each wanting to 'talk' and get their feelings out there. Well _thank you Dr. Phil_, but _he _wasn't ready to face it all just yet. So _no _he was _not_ going to tear his heart out and expose it for the world to see. Hell, he felt awful enough already. There was just no _need_ to have his guilt confirmed. He couldn't even bring himself to want to know whether Sam and Fran had lost the…or were still going to be…well, either way it was better he not know. Safer that way for everyone involved.

It was weird, you know? How even with all that hanging over his head there was still some good in his life. This was a day like any other in their home now. Dean had to smile when those words popped to mind. 'Their home.' Wasn't so long ago that 'home' had meant nothing more than the Impala, Sam and the open road. Now…well _now_ the word just held so much more _meaning_. Things might've gone to crap courtesy of the yellow-eyed demon but as long as he had _this_ he had _hope_.

Cal was upstairs, curled up in bed with a book or something. She was probably pretending to nap and fighting sleep just because he'd sent her up for one – a battle she'd been loosing often lately due to the concussion that hadn't quite gone away yet. It had left her too tired to argue much lately, and oddly he missed their little daily arguments. Turns out she wasn't as hard-headed as everyone thought.

The doc had said it could last up to six weeks. Said that when the exhaustion started to fade it'd mean she was getting better. Wouldn't be long now until she was back to her old argumentative, pain-in-the-ass self. The thought alone was enough to put a grin on his face. He couldn't wait.

As for Dean…well he might not necessarily be 'happy' but sitting at the kitchen table again, a plethora of weaponry spread out before him ready for his attention, he was as content as he'd ever been in life. It had been weeks since he'd been able to dedicate an afternoon to just sitting down and methodically cleaning the tools of the Winchester family trade. Sharpen a knife, clean and check the sights on a gun, pack rock-salt rounds…it was nice that he'd finally found some time to do just that.

He'd snuck in a tape deck a while back for such occasions. Well, that and because he knew that it would drive Cal insane just knowing it was hidden somewhere in the house. She'd been nagging him lately to update his cassette collection for CD's instead. Her excuse had been that she didn't have a tape deck in the house, but the joke was on her because there was an old record player set up in her mother's sewing room. So as an answer, he went out and bought a vinyl LP – Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon – and made a big show of playing it, over and over for days on end, until he managed to sneak in the tape deck. Oh _god! _The look on her face when she'd seen his ancient beater of a tape deck for the first time…freaking _priceless! _

He was chuckling softly to the memory when he heard it; a faint sound that was just this side of out of place. The squeak of a door upstairs that wasn't Cal. Dean knew the sound of her moving around. Even in stealth mode in the middle of a hunt she was never that quiet. So what then…company? But of what kind? Could be that Jace or Maggie had snuck in; either one of them might be looking to play a prank (their new favorite pastime apparently), but he knew the sound of _them _better than he did Cal's.

So no…not family. Familiar though. He knew what it was, he just couldn't place it. Could be a demonic intruder, and after those last two encounters of the demon kind, he sure as hell wasn't taking any chances.

Eyes trained on the ceiling, following the barely audible shuffle/scratching sound as it moved, he loaded both of the guns he'd just cleaned and clicked their safety catches off. Whatever it was he was going to give it _one hell_ of a surprise. No way he was going to let some evil supernatural _thing_ just waltz into their home and get away with it.

Silently climbing the stairs two at a time, he held his weapons at the ready. Senses in overdrive, he was geared up for just about anything…except what he found, or rather _was surprised with_.

He'd just barely lifted his feet off the top step when two, yeah _two, _FBI agents in full SWAT gear stepped out of the bathroom and had their much larger hi-tech automatic rifles pointed _right at him_. One more had somehow materialized out of nowhere behind him and had positioned his 35mm right behind Dean's ear, making it clear that if he so much as _twitched_ he was dead.

Black gloved hands reached for and relieved him of his guns as he was shoved down to his knees, with his hands behind his head, and read his rights. That's when Cal's voice finally rang out, loud and angry in the unearthly quiet that had settled over the farmhouse.

"What the freaking _hell _is going on here?! Get your _filthy_ paws off of me dammit, and what the hell is the FBI doing in _my _house anyway? Sneaking into an innocent girl's bedroom - while _she sleeps_ no less - _in Canada_! Last I heard you Feds were American. Are you boys really that bored that you're resorting to home invasion in foreign countries? Aren't there international laws against shit like this?" Two more agents, also dressed all in black, had their hands on Cal and were literally _dragging _her out of the bedroom. She was all sleep mussed, a little drowsy, and obviously mad as hell. The sight of those black gloves contrasting milky white skin was all Dean needed to lose it completely.

He was back up on his feet before anyone even realized he'd moved. Hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides and a murderous warning glare shooting like lethal daggers out of hazel eyes, he spoke slowly so the _idiots_ who'd had the nerve to invade their home would understand him perfectly.

"Get your goddamned hands off her or I will _personally_ kill you _all_." He just barely got the chance to register the look of complete terror on the FBI agents' faces, before something came down on the crown of his head _hard_ sending him into dark oblivion as he fell to the floor.

Well, that had gone well, hadn't it?

* * *

Sam's eyes followed a small finger as it dragged lightly across the brightly colored boxes on the shelf in front of him. Alright, so the finger wasn't really that small considering it belonged to an eight year old boy. In Sam's defense, the only fingers he had to compare them to were his own.

"Hey Sa-am? Can we get _this one?_" Jason's hesitant, slightly whiny tone made him want to smile. Of course that would never do because then he'd have to give in and buy the kid these 'Cocoa Puff' things that Fran would definitely not approve of. Instead he made a big show of rolling his eyes and frowning. Man, he was getting pretty good at this parenting thing. Judging from the look Jason shot at him it was a pretty safe bet that he might have almost looked believable. You know, except for the part where they _both _broke out laughing.

"I don't think so pal. You heard the lady's orders: Cheerios, Frosted Flakes or those mini Shredded Wheat things."

"Awww! But that stuff is, like, all _healthy _and stuff." And yes, the kid had actually made it sound like the biggest tragedy in the universe. Jason was pulling out all the stops trying to get his way, right down to the pouty bottom lip and the big 'kicked puppy' eyes.

Too bad for him Sam had practically _invented_ that particular look. "Sorry dude, I'm not interested in putting my life on the line over a box of sugar. You want contraband go hang out with Cal and Dean. You want cereal for breakfast you get Cheerios, Frosted Flakes or Mini Wheats." Sam the Immovable had spoken and Jason acted accordingly - by picking out the Frosted Flakes, probably because they looked like they had the most frosting. He tossed it into the cart Sam was pushing.

"Okay Sasquatch, what's next on the Drill Sergeant's list?" _Apparently _Sam was gonna have to talk to Dean about watching what he said around the kids.

"First of all, its _Sam _thanks, and 'the Drill Sergeant' is _Fran_…and next we hit the soup aisle."

"Sure thing _sasquatch_." Sam gritted his teeth; Jason had _definitely_ been spending way too much time with Dean. "Hey, does this mean we're getting more of that awesome chowder stuff Maggie made for lunch last weekend?"

"Yeah, it does." Because that girl could make a chowder like nobody's business and it had quickly become their house favorite.

"_YES_!" One word spoken with the kind of enthusiasm that only a child is capable of, and Jason was running down the breakfast food aisle as if intent on finding that soup before they sold out.

"Jace! This is _a grocery store, _not the hundred yard Olympic dash! Slow down, will ya?" He heard the satisfying squeak of sneakered feet stopping abruptly and knew the boy had listened. It wasn't until he rounded the corner to meet Jason where he'd stopped in the next aisle, that Sam realized something was wrong. A couple of men dressed in what looked like all-black riot gear each had one of Jason's arms in hand.

"Sam Winchester?" An official, sober sounding voice came from behind him as a black gloved hand settled on his forearm.

"Uh…" Did he really want to answer that? He was running through several different escape options, trying to figure out a way to get Jason the hell out of that store, when the first of two handcuffs was placed on his wrist.

"_Leave him alone!_ Why can't you cops, or feds, or whatever the hell you people are, go after actual real crooks? Let him go, he never did anything wrong!" Sam heard Jason's voice crack with the force of his emotions as he fought to get his arms back.

"Jason, stop." He did, but Sam knew it was only because he was the one to tell him to. "Let's just go with these guys. You're right, I haven't done anything wrong. That's why they'll have to let us go when we get there, okay?"

The kid didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The anger and distrust were clearly written all over his face, right along with the same bone deep fear that gripped Sam. He didn't want to lose the family he'd only just found, or the home he'd only just settled into. He wouldn't either, not if Sam had anything to say about it.

"Don't worry, we'll be home for supper just like we told the girls we would be."

He just hoped he wasn't lying.

* * *

They'd finally caught up with him. _Damn_. He'd known it was just a matter of time; Dean had just kind of hoped there'd be a little more of it before past sins came back to haunt him.

When he came to in a grungy little five by five cell god-only-knew-where, he wasn't alone. Sam was there, which was a little disturbing considering he was on Dean's side of the bars. Still, it was good to see Cal _wasn't_…though on second thought, maybe that was more disturbing than waking up to Sam across the cell from him. If _he_ was here and _she_ wasn't then…where the hell _was _she?

"Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean gave him a long, considering once-over through squinting eyes before he was satisfied with Sam's answer. Okay then, that was one accounted for, now on to the next: the one most likely to get herself into trouble.

"Where's Cal? Is she okay? Do we even _know_ if she's okay?"

"Cal's okay; I called her about an hour ago. She's at home doing some of the research. They couldn't arrest her, didn't have anything to hold her on, and international law says they can't touch her. She's safe."

Dean tried to smile but only managed a wince, grabbing his head as the effects of the blow he'd taken made themselves known. He didn't even want to _try_ sitting up. He knew full well that if he did his stomach would let him know _exactly_ how it felt about head trauma and possible concussions due to asshole FBI agents and police brutality.

"What about Fran and the kids?" Because that was _all _Jason and Maggie needed; to be taken away from the first real home they'd ever known because of this crap.

"They're all at Cal's, Dean. Everybody's okay."

Yeah sure, everybody was okay. Everybody except _them._

"How'd they know where we were, anyway?" The only time they'd had to use any kind of fake ID in Canada had been at the hospital a few weeks back, and even then it had been brand new stuff. Stupid Feds shouldn't have been able to trace them back here.

"Stay in one place for too long and things have a habit of catching up on a person Dean."

The scowl he wore had very little to do with pain as he arched a brow in Sam's direction. Since when was he so damned philosophical? "Dude, we were _careful_! They shouldn't have been able to find us so easy."

"I heard them talking Dean. It _wasn't_ easy. That's why they're so pissed actually. This Henricksen guy and his partner have been hunting us down for about a year now. They're insulted it took so long to finally track us down. Apparently we're the big black X on their otherwise spotless records."

Well, wasn't _that _fabulous! The Feds that had just caught them were already holding a grudge. Wonderful. What else could possibly go wrong…

"Oh _shit_! Dude, I had all my gear spread out all over the kitchen when they…_aw great_! They probably have it locked away somewhere as evidence or something." A lifetime of weaponry and tools to use against evil supernatural beings gone in the space of an afternoon. What was that question he'd just been asking himself about things getting worse?

"Relax Dean. International Law dictates that because they apprehended us in Canada and that our homes are _literally_ owned by Canadian citizens, they can't touch anything inside unless it's directly related to the crime they picked us up for committing. Cal told me that the second they went near your stuff she told them it was hers. She said she threatened to get the government _and _the press involved if they started nosing around in her stuff."

They wore matching grins at the visual of the looks that must've been on those guys faces when Cal took out that old 'won't back down' attitude of hers. Unfortunately just the thought of her was enough to bring home to Dean just how real and how desperate this situation of theirs really was. The burning ache in his head intensified until his vision blurred. He was pretty sure he was going to pass out again soon and that knowledge only served to frustrate him more.

"_Dammit_…can't be _here_…need to go _home_." Great, thanks to his head injury, he was starting to sound like a homesick five year old. He couldn't help it though. Now that he finally knew what home really was and had found one for himself, he felt like if he didn't get back there fast, it wouldn't be there for him to go back to.

"I know man, me too. We'll figure this out. I mean come on, we're Winchesters right?

Can't do much right now though so just…try to rest."

"Yeah, whatever." A muffled response as Dean turned towards the wall, away from the light. The thought occurred to him as he pulled the pitiful excuse for a pillow over his head that he'd never in all his life felt this pathetic. Wow. That was probably a clear sign right there that it was time to suck it up and find them a way out of this mess…you know, as soon as his head stopped feeling like it was going to implode.

Seriously, what exactly was going to be the next thing to go wrong? All they needed now was for him to sprout those wings right there in the damned cell. Sleep claimed him finally on the tail end of that last thought, filling his dreams with evil yellow eyes, thick muddy puddles of blood and the burn of enormous black wings sprouting out of his back.

* * *

The next time Dean woke, there was a man in a monkey suit at the cell door. "Mr. Winchester, you're free to go." Ha _ha_! Now _that's_ what he was talking about!

"So nice to see you people finally got your heads out of your asses long enough to figure out I'm not one of the bad guys," he crowed as he stumble-fell off the bed he'd been lying on and made his way slowly to the door where Sam was already standing.

"I'm sorry," the man said, an obvious gleam in his eye "There seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding here. Let me rephrase that last statement. Mr. _Samuel _Winchester, you're free to go. We can't hold you without proof of illegal activity." Yeah, you couldn't say the guy didn't enjoy delivering _that _little bit of news now could ya?

"What?!?" It was Winchester in stereo as both brothers spoke at once.

"Well, it seems there's no actual concrete proof that you were involved in any of your brother's illicit ventures. _You _are free to go home. _He, _on the other hand_, is not._"

"What proof do you have that Dean's been doing anything illegal?" Sam's Stanford education hard at work.

"I'm not at liberty to say Mr.Winchester. Now, if you'll please step away from the door I'll let you out and you can be on your way. There's an angry looking woman waiting at the front desk to take you home."

Dean smiled then because there was only one possible woman that could be. Fran would've been worried, _angry_ was more Cal's style.

"You better go on ahead. If you don't hustle she'll start tearing the place apart to find us." The way he was starting to see it there would be a couple of advantages to being the one behind bars, the most attractive of which being relieved of the need to field the Dr. Phil type conversations…if only temporarily.

"What? No! I'm not just gonna leave you here…" Sam was very obviously shocked that Dean was apparently going to just sit back and accept this.

"Look Sam, we're running a little low on options here. They can't keep you here and they're not about to just let me go. Do _you_ see any other way for this to go?"

Pressing his lips together Sam shook his head in resignation and stepped back from the door. A moment later he was stepping through the open door and it was clanging shut between them. Despite the scruff of beard that earned him the sasquatch nickname Sam somehow managed to look incredibly young. He'd always been terrible at hiding things from his brother, especially when he was worried.

Sam and Monkey Suit guy were about halfway down the hall when Dean finally called out to him. "Hey Sam, do me a favor will ya? Don't let Cal drive my car."

He'd said it to lighten the mood and it seemed to have worked. Sam turned and smiled, if only just a little. "Since when is anyone able to stop Cal from getting what she wants?"

"Are you kidding? The challenge is half the fun."

Even Sam was surprised by the short bark of laughter he responded with. Challenge was definitely a good word for Caitlin O'Sulivan.

"Alright, fine. I'll keep her away from your car on one condition."

"What, just the one?"

"Yeah smartass, just the one. Stay out of trouble 'till we get you out of here."

Dean took a good long look at his current surroundings. A really small cell with two tiny cots metal cots and a toilet. What the hell kind of trouble could he possibly get into in a place like that? "Yeah, uh, dude? I really don't think that'll be a problem."

Sam didn't look so sure about that though.

In any case neither one of them got the chance to say anything more. Sam was ushered through the door that led to the office and Dean was left alone with the bump on his head and his own thoughts.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please review : )_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi. I just wanted to include a quick disclaimer as I don't have one on this fic yet. I still don't own the Winchesters, the Impala or anything related to the Supernatural show. Also, I'm not getting paid to write fanfiction. This is all just for fun :) The characters not related to the show are mine and not currently for sharing outside of reading these fics. lol _

_I'd like to add a quick apology. These two new chapters were posted at two a.m. my time and went up unproofread. There was some out of place text in ch. 2 and some typos in ch. 3. What I could find at a glance has been fixed. If you see anything else please let me know and I'll correct it. Thanks and enjoy the read. _

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"What the hell is taking so long? I mean _seriously_! I get told to be here for eleven in the morning to pick Sam up and now you're not ready to discharge him yet?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but there's nothing I can do."

Ha! Ma'am she calls me. I'll tell her exactly what I think of that! Wait, did the kid just sneer at me? Whatever. She's like _twelve _–and yes as a matter of fact I am definitely exaggerating- and working at a penitentiary. I'll just chalk it up to a tough exterior for protection purposes…for now.

"Okay, can I at least visit with Dean for a few minutes while I'm waiting then? Honestly, it's the least you could do considering the way you people are making me wait around like this." It's like the seventh time I've asked that particular question since arriving and the kid looks annoyed with me for it. What? It's really hard to stand here and try to be reasonable with these folks when he and Sam are just out of reach down the hall sitting in some grungy jail cell. I'm not exactly known for my patience here, now am I?

"Visiting hours don't start until after lunch miss O'Sulivan. I've explained this to you already. If you want to see Mr. Winchester you'll have to wait 'till then just like everyone else."

Oh, she's sneering at me all right and all I want to do is slap that self-righteous, condescending little attitude right off her face.

"Listen Barbie doll, I don't think I like your tone." It's the closest thing to a warning I can manage right now. My way of telling her she's trying my last nerve, the only thing that's holding me back from resorting to violence. If we were in a bar right now, instead of a penitentiary, this would be the start of an awesome brawl. The blonde, Barbie of a debutante wannabe doesn't seem to care though so I'm thinking it might not be such a bad idea to flash a little of that silver blade hiding down the inside of my boot.

Then again, maybe not so much seeing as there are at least a dozen cops, and that's just here in this room. I want to see Dean for myself to make sure they haven't roughed him up anymore than that butt to the back of his head, but I don't want to be looking at him from across the cell.

There are a number of different ways today can go. First being that I just sit my derriere down on a bench and patiently wait for these bozos to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to release Sam. That one's the safer one to go with, but definitely not my favorite. Seeing as I'm not a 'play-it-safe' kinda girl we'll just veto that option right now before we go any further with this.

Then there are several different scenarios involving my sneaking into the holding area to get a few minutes alone with Dean. He'd be happy to see me I think, but he'd also be mad as hell that I snuck in. That protective streak of his has been rearing its annoying little head ever since that whole business with Fran disappearing, my wings growing in and the fight with the yellow eyed demon started. I'd probably get tossed in a cell for mischief or something for doing it anyway so that's a vetoed idea too.

My favorite plan, and the one I'm getting closer to executing with every new dirty look Barbie sends my way, is the jail break plan I cooked up last night. All I'd need is a couple of minutes with one of the male guards. I'd try pulling that flirty, cleavage-flashing trick of mine first and if that didn't work I could always knock the guy out and take his keys that way. Another minute or two to find Dean, just long enough to let him out and head back out to the car. His baby's sitting out in the parking lot waiting for him right now. Her engine's been running rough since the day before yesterday and if I didn't know any better I'd say the car was pining for him.

"Hey sweetheart, you wanna maybe pick up the phone and call back to whoever and find out how much longer they're planning on making me wait out here?"

Barbie's little eye roll just sealed her fate. She better pray I never see her on the street somewhere…or down a dark alley for that matter.

Lucky thing the door behind her chose that exact moment to open and six foot-forever of Sam came through it.

"Sam!" And yes, that was definitely relief in my voice. At least now I know for sure that one of the Winchester boys is safe and in one piece. The added bonus is that _this one_ is on the right side of thick metal bars.

"Hey Cal. They're all done with me, can we go?"

Except now I'm not so sure I want to go yet. Visiting hours start in ten minutes and I'd really like to set eyes on Dean before leaving. Would be nice to get a crack in about how I'm not the only one whose head isn't as hard as everyone thought it was, if only to see that crooked grin of his make an appearance.

"I was thinking of staying a few more minutes for visiting hours to start."

Sam doesn't look like he hates the idea actually, and I'm thinking a few minutes out here with Sam is a whole lot easier a wait than the last hour's been; or I do until the Barbie behind the desk opens her pink little lips again.

"I'm _really _sorry, Caitlin is it? Inmates are only allowed visits from family members during their first week of incarceration. Something about an adjustment period."

Now, why _the hell_ couldn't she have mentioned that _earlier_? Like maybe one of the six or seven times I asked to see him _before_ Sam came out? The girl is somethin' else alright. Something I'd like to instill the fear of God into, maybe teach her the meaning of common courtesy and respect.

Sam's psychic thing must've been in full swing because one look at my face sent his eyebrows shooting up his forehead and his gaze dropping to my boots as if he wanted to make sure the knives I always keep there hadn't come out to play. Alright, so maybe I was just being really obvious. What can I say? The chic was _really_ pissing me off.

"Let's just go Cal." Sam's voice is the only thing keeping my temper in check. Poor guy looks exhausted. Completely wrecked and obviously worried out of his mind if the kicked puppy look was any indication. Lucky for _Barbie_ over there taking care of Sam is way higher on my list of priorities than kicking _her_ scrawny behind.

"_Fine_." There'd be plenty of time to put the kid in her place later. Who am I to pass up a few extra days to plot?

Homecoming was like a well choreographed scene in some cheesy romantic movie. Sam stopped just inside the kitchen when Fran turned from the sink full of dishes she'd been washing. Time froze when their eyes met and felt as if it would never start again, until a heartbeat later it did in a giant whoosh like a rush of air.

They met halfway right smack in the middle of the room, Sam's arms coming around Fran's waist and lifting her a good six inches off the ground. The look on his face said it all. He was just happy to be home and able to hold her close.

Jason rolled his eyes at the scene, too much mushy stuff for his taste. Maggie sighed happily at how romantic it all was and Cal let out a long whistle when they finally kissed. The man might've only been gone a day and a half but it was obvious he'd been missed.

As joyful an occasion Sam's homecoming was there was still a shadow hovering over them all and it had several names. An invisible cloud that touched everything they said or did. Unseen and yet felt so very clearly. It made itself known in all the subtle little changes that everyone noticed and no one talked about.

It was Loneliness, when Cal chose to sleep on the couch instead of in her empty room, half filled with Dean's things. It was Guilt when Sam couldn't sit for more than a minute or two before pulling out a legal reference book or opening his laptop to search for a way to end his brother's incarceration. Fran puttered constantly, doing her best to make everyone as comfortable as possible and keeping everything as neat and organized as she could. That one was Worry.

Maggie and Jason tore through the house and around the property as if they were on fire, their sudden surge of energy like a subconscious effort to compensate for the missing Winchester. That was Fear. Dean was a driving force in their family, it just took him being gone for everyone to realize it.

Dad's dead… Dad's dead…two words that haven't stopped echoing trough me, and it's been weeks already. Sammy's finally found a little bit of normal again and now he might end up loosing it because of this crap. Cal…I don't even want to get into the whole Cal situation. Not even sitting here alone in this little cell with myself. How the hell did everything get so screwed up so fast?

At least Fran and the kids are safe. Sam moved them into the farmhouse with Cal, something about there being safety in numbers. He was right too, they'll be safer that way so at least there's that. Maggie and Jace won't be alone. That kid might only be seventeen but she can hold her own with the best of 'em. I made sure of it myself. She's got Casey on her side too. If all else fails that fae-creature-thing won't let anything hurt her or her brother.

And that brings me right back to dad. Memories I wish I didn't have. Things I wish I could forget ever happened. _Dad's dead_! The words just keep echoing right through me. Follow me everywhere.

Words shouting out at me from the CCR and the Neil Young that's blasting from the radio the guards are listening to down the hall. Hell, Sam's face alone is so much like Dad's it hurts just to look at him sometimes. He's been here twice already since they let him out. It's always the same: he sits across the table and eyes me with that worried, kicked puppy face of his. Looking me over every few minutes as if he's afraid I'm gonna have some sort of breakdown kinda moment right in front of his eyes.

Yeah, okay so maybe that's an option. Not like I'm about to give into the impulse though. I've got to protect Sam, don't I? Protect Sam, stop the demon, save the world from what's coming. That's my job, Dad's legacy sitting like the weight of the world on my shoulders; and just like that the dream takes over again. The one I haven't told anyone about yet. The one that's been haunting me every night since we went up against the demon, like Dad's trying to reach out to me from whatever it is that comes after death. That damned dream, playing like a movie in my head. A frigging psychological thriller with the worst kind of ending.

_Dad's voice, thread thin and breaking as he speaks to me: _

"_We're the only ones who can end this Dean. Your brother, he's the key."_

_Like the idiot I am I figure as long as we're all together we can beat the damned thing. _

"_Okay Dad, okay. We can do this. You and me, between the two of us we can save Sam, kill the demon, save the world."_

_He tries to tell me, tries to make me see the obvious. _

"_Son…look at me. No way I'm gonna make it through the night. This hole burnt into my chest, the broken ribs. Dean, I can barely move. Hell, it's a miracle I'm not dead yet, and this fight's not over…"_

_I can't believe he's just giving up like that. Won't let him do it. The blind faith I have in him unshakeable as usual. No damned demon is gonna get the best of my dad: the great John Winchester. _

"_Don't, okay? Just…don't. Don't talk like that Dad. We're gonna end this, I'm gonna end this and we'll get you to a hospital. Get you patched up good as new."_

_But he knows. I don't know how but he knows. The dying always know when their time has come. That's something I've learned from personal experience, right?_

"_Dean, you've got to promise me. Promise me that if it comes down to it you'll leave me and get the girls and your brother out of this." _

_I promise just to make him stop talking like that. I humor him believing that it just won't ever come down to that. I mean, come on! One demon, six seasoned hunters, three of 'em Winchesters…_

_Even with most of us injured; even with Dad in the shape he's in, the odds are against the demon._

_Things get ugly real fast right about then, and even though I do exactly what I said I would and end it myself it's still too little, too late._

_Now Dad's dead and it's my fault because no matter how hard I tried I couldn't save him. _

It doesn't matter that the conversation never happened anywhere other than in my own head. In the end it's all the same. Dad's _dead_.

As if that's not bad enough now the Feds are out for blood. Specifically _mine._ Well okay, so maybe they've got reason to be. Credit card fraud is kind of a little illegal. That's why I promised Sam I'd stop all that stuff awhile back. Do the feds care that I gave that up over a year ago? _Hell _no! _Of course_ it doesn't matter to them, all that matters is that I did it in the first place right?

There's that business from a while back in St-Louis working against me too. Freaking shape shifter borrows my face just long enough for everyone to think I'm some sort of psycho serial killer. As weird as it was to pump a couple rounds of silver bullets into myself, I'm glad I wasted the damned thing. Leaves me in a bit of a tough spot now though. How am I supposed to show them it wasn't me if there's no body to prove it? Seriously, I never thought I'd see a downside to 'salt and burn'.

Now I'm sitting here in this godforsaken cell, where I'm completely useless to everyone; including myself. I've had a lot of time to think about things here too, and you know what? All this peace and quiet isn't such a great thing after all. I mean, who needs perspective anyway? Oh yeah, all this time to think really gives a guy the chance to see things a little clearer. The conclusion I've come to? Clarity _sucks_.

See, the way I figure it's pretty simple. The reason I'm here –no, not here _in jail_. 'Here' as in still alive- is first and foremost to protect people from the evil supernatural stuff that I hunt. Sam being my main priority, Cal coming close second because god knows somebody's got to save the woman from her accident-prone, stubborn self. Fran, Jace and Maggie rounding off the top five because if they're not safe and happy then Sam's a wreck and when he's like that he gets really hard on himself. Protecting that guy from the forces of evil is easy compared to protecting him from himself.

Unfortunately, protecting these people isn't as simple as it sounds and it generally makes my _other_ job a lot harder than it already is. Hunting isn't exactly your garden variety 'nine-to-five' cushy kind of job with company picnics and health benefits. It's a whole lot harder when one wrong move could sentence the most important people in your life to death.

I can't keep Sam safe from in here, can't save the world like dad made me promise to from a five by five cell. Can't keep Cal from doing something stupid from in here or even make sure that those two kids are keeping their noses clean. As much as I wish I could just give up and accept being here; pass the torch on to somebody else and give up the hunting, the quest for demonic destruction...

Fact of the matter is _I can't_.

I can't just escape from this place and go home either, at least not for longer than to pack up and hit the road again. It just wouldn't be safe. Sam and Cal would be put under a magnifying glass, would end up suspected of aiding and abetting my escape. Jason and Maggie would get put back into foster care if that happened and I'll have managed to wreck what little good this family has finally managed to find.

God, I just _can't do it_. I can't just sit here and do _nothing_. I can't leave Sam and his family alone and vulnerable like that. I'm letting Dad down. Only one way to go: I've got to end this myself. I've gotta hit the road and hunt down that demon so I can kill it. It's the only way to keep them all safe. The only way to be sure they all make it out of this alive.

Oh yeah, a thought worth fantasizing about: just me, the Impala and the road. As cocky as I can be I'll be the first to admit I'm no hero, but I _am_ a damned good hunter and there is nothing I won't do to keep my family safe. Even if that means laying my sorry behind on the line and giving my life up to get it done.

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_Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please review._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

So this sitting in the Impala parked in a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night waiting to perform a B&E and jail break? Definitely not a new concept for Sam or Cal. It was a pretty regular kind of event. What wasn't so regular about it was that Dean wasn't around to take the edge off by distracting and annoying them both. Then again, that was why they were herewasn't it? To rescue him.

Midnight had come and gone hours before and now they were waiting on the four thirty shift change. In just a couple of minutes they'd leave the car and make their respective moves. Cal would disarm the alarm, Sam would make his way into the building to break Dean out of the pokey. All the tedious waiting and planning was finally going to be over and one way or another they'd do what they came to do.

The scary part in all this wasn't that it was just the two of them, where usually there were three. No, the scary part was that they might not succeed and in failing they would pretty much seal Dean's fate. Breaking a guy out of a police precinct holding cell was one thing. Breaking him out of a State penitentiary where he'd be facing hard time was another. The fear that they may fail alone was enough to put them both on edge, which transformed their normally laid back, relaxed dynamic into a lot of short tempered, terse little arguments.

"So you're sticking to the plan, right?" Just another variation of the same question Sam had asked about a million times over since they'd left the farm.

"Yeah, of course I am." Cal gave him the same curt answer as every other time he'd asked, and every time she got just the tiniest bit more agitated. When a girl gives her word she expects folks to believe she'll keep it.

"And by 'the plan' we're on the same page about it being the one we just spent the last two days hashing out, right?" After all, Cal's specialty was changing the plan and making it up as she went along right? Sam had to be _positive _they could pull this off properly before they went in there.

"_Yes_ Sam. The one and only plan we have. Unless there's another plan floating around somewhere that I should know about?" Cal was about to cross that very fine line from annoyed to pissed-the-hell-off if he didn't let up soon. That muscle twitch along her jaw line (caused by the clenching and unclenching of her teeth) was a telltale sign that she was starting to see red.

"It's just…" Oh God, Sam, with his incessant need to explain everything. "…we can't afford you pulling one of your usual last-minute improvs. You make a last minute change to the plan while it's in action and we might not be able to get him out of there…" That terrified kicked puppy face was really starting to get to her. And you know what_? _She _really_ didn't need to be reminded that Dean's entire life was on the line here. Talk about putting the pressure on before show time. Jeeze, you'd think Sam 'chick flick' Winchester would think something like that through before letting it cross his lips this close to go time. Enough already!

"Okay _look_, this is _Dean_ we're breaking out of the joint here. I'm not saying I'm going to go out and intentionally screw around with the plan but you have to realize that if something goes awry we might _need _one of my-" Sam cut her off mid-way through making sense because he needed to make it crystal clear: there was just no way they _weren't_ coming out of this with Dean tonight.

"Yeah, _exactly_. It's _Dean _which means we can't afford to fuck up, alright?"

Oh _sure_! Never mind that those so called 'improvs' she was always pulling always wound up saving all of their sorry asses. Of course, before she could let it rip and tell him exactly what she thought of this _chip_ he was carrying around on those wide-ass shoulder of his she caught sight of the worry lines etched all over his face. So instead of ripping him a new one she found herself trying to reassure him and somehow calm herself down in the process.

"Listen, I got it. We've been over it about a gazillion times, there's _no way_ we can't do this and get away with it. I'll sneak my way over to the box over there, pull out all the wiring for the cameras to take them offline. I head straight back out here and start the car to man the radio with the blue prints to the place in case you need an alternate route out and wait. As soon as you two clear the building I hit the gas and we all get the hell out of here."

"Good. Now stick to it." Sam looked satisfied with her answer, if no less worried. Now if she could only do something to ease the tension that was literally _vibrating_ out of him. Well, when all else fails a little humor never hurts right?

"Yes_sir!_" She saluted, trying to tease some semblance of a smile out of him.

"_Shut _up!" Yeah, success is a wonderful thing. That little curl teasing the corners of his mouth couldn't quite be called a smile yet but it was enough to put a grin on Cal's face before shooting off a sassy answer in the sweetest possible tone of voice.

"_Make_ me."

And when he rolled his eyes at her, reaching an arm across the seat to shove her shoulder playfully, she knew it had worked.

A few minutes later Cal was wearing a serious frown as she crawled up the fire escape. Dressed all in black from head to toe like some sort of cat burglar, she could have passed for that girly-girl chick from that Dark Angel show. Her usual jeans and t-shirt would have been her preferred choice but, as Sam had pointed out to her earlier, there was really no help for it if she wanted to blend into the night. They hadn't spotted any cameras around the fire escape but that didn't mean they weren't there.

It took less than a minute for her to climb the side of the one-story building and onto the roof. From there it was just a matter of crawling over to the power box. Thank God the cops had decided to keep him at the station instead of shipping him off to an actual prison. They'd probably done it to avoid a possible escape in transit. In the end it had only made Cal and Sam's job a whole lot easier and kept the plan a whole lot simpler.

Her romantic side (if you could call it that) had her picking the box's lock with Dean's tools. It seemed fitting. Also, she found some measure of small comfort in knowing a small part of him was there with her as she did what she could to help Sam's end of things. Unfortunately once she got the metal box open there was no way to tell which wire to pull. _Somebody_ had messed with the wiring so that the colors weren't what they were supposed to be. She was looking for the color green. According to the plans they'd gone over green was the power feed for the cameras. Green meant go right? Sure thing, except there wasn't even onegreen wire in the whole damned box. Which meant _what_ exactly? They'd changed the colors of the wires? They'd rerouted the power feed for the surveillance and security equipment somewhere else? _Damn it!_ They were tight on time here!

Okay, think fast O'Sulivan. What would Dad do? Old Jacob was pretty good at spur of the moment, on the spot problem solving. Of course, that being said, he was also the all or nothing type so he'd probably just pull 'em all out and hope for the best.

know, that wasn't such a bad idea. _Get ready Sam, I feel an O'Sulivan improv coming on._

Pulling Dean's massive Bowie knife out of the sheath she'd tucked into the band above the seat of her pants, Cal took a brief moment to admire the glint of moonlight on its recently sharpened blade. Another moment to take a good long look at the neatly organized wire box before she reached in there and hacked right through every last wire in the box, _and _just for good measure_,_ crouched down and hacked through all the ones _outside _of it too, on both top and bottom

Cal O'Sulivan was nothing if not thorough.

Anyway, she figured if she was going to do something illegal she probably ought to go all the way and make it worth the possible jail time to be served. It just wouldn't do to get laughed at when they tossed her into the joint if she got caught. And _no_, the pretty colors those sparks she'd made with the excessive unnecessary damage had nothing to do with the thrill she got out of it. Well, okay, maybe a little but if anyone asked she'd deny it entirely.

Sam was waiting in the parking lot next door for her signal to go ahead when the lights in the whole building went out, giving him the heart attack of his life. His fingers had never dialed a number so quickly in his life.

"_What the hell did you do_?"

"Dude, there wasn't any green wire. The stupid box had all the colors of the rainbow except the green one I needed to take the cameras offline. There wasn't any other choice, I _had_ to cut them all. The good news is that without power to the place it'll be easier to slip in and out unnoticed." Who knew, maybe there would be less fiddling with locks. If the power was out then maybe the electronic door locks will have become disengaged.

"Yeah, sure if by 'easier' you mean a lot closer to impossible. Every damn cop in the place is going to be on edge trying to get a handle on the chaos in there. They're gonna be extra vigilant and paranoid, especially when they figure out why the power went out in the first place."

"So get in there and get your pain-in-the-ass brother the hell out of there before they figure out what we're doing." Sheesh, and they said women liked to bitch. At least you could count on a girl to take action without prompting when the moment called for it . Speaking of which, Cal was starting to think that this might be one of those moments.

"I'll meet you by the side door. We'll go in together." Change number two to the plan. Sam would probably have an aneurysm but he'd be better off with someone at his back the way he was already freaking out.

"What? No! You're supposed to be keeping the motor warm. We can't afford to get boxed in before ever even getting in the car." She didn't have to have eyes on him to see the eyes bulging and the vein on his forehead pulsing angrily, threatening to burst right off of his face.

"That might very well be, Sam, but you're also no good alone in there if you're freaking out. You want to be the one to explain to Dean why it is that he'll have to come back tomorrow night to get your sorry ass out of the same cell he's been warming?"

Crap. No. Hadn't Cal just spend the whole night reassuring him she wouldn't do exactly what it was she was currently doing.

"Dammit Cal, what if something goes wrong? What if they catch on to what we're doing and start shooting at us or something? Wouldn't it be better for one of us to have the car running, ready to go?"

"Well, you've got a point… things could go sour… and I _am_ the better driver…"

"Atta girl."

"Shut. Up."

Against better judgment and her own basic nature, Cal gives in to Sam and goes back to wait in the car. It's a move she regrets every minute from the time Sam breaches the side door to the building because the idiot leaves her hanging. The guy doesn't bother to radio her over the walkie talkies even just once to let her know what in the hell was happening.

Five minutes. The whole job shouldn't have taken any more than five minutes. At the eight minute mark Cal revvs the engine and parks closer to the same side door Sam had used to get in. It was supposed to be their exit point and the closer she was the less time it would take to get them into the backseat so she could point the beast toward the highway and home.

When the ten minute mark came and went Cal wasn't too proud to admit to herself that there was panic settling itself in her heart. _Never send a man to do what a girl can do better. _Ottawa was as much her home as Winchester Springs was. She was the one who had done most of her growing up in the area. These boys were completely out of their depth. Canadians didn't operate quite like the Americans did, even with FBI in their midst. Sam's expectations of reactions and obstacles were not necessarily what he would encounter. Cal, on the other hand. Well, she'd busted herself out of more of these places than she cared to admit to. One too many drinks and a flying fist or two tended to get a girl into that kind of trouble.

After fifteen minutes the emergency lighting came on. It was by no more than extreme force of will that Cal didn't wet her pants because now the dim lighting that was coming from the bulb over the door she was covering suddenly felt like a spotlight pointed directly at the Impala. Someone must have finally turned on the backup generators. The light wasn't bright enough for a passerby to be able to make out the type of car or her face. After the full dark she'd been sitting in though it was hard not to feel completely exposed.

She was dialing Sam with one hand and opening the driver's side door to follow in his footsteps when the metal door with the brown peeling paint finally slammed open.

Two grown men were running toward the car, feet barely touching the ground in their haste. No small feat considering the one was wearing steel toed work boots.

Sam had a hand hovering by Dean's shoulder, giving him a shove forward any time he showed signs of slowing down. Dean, for his part, looked completely winded and kept glancing back from the wide open door to Sam and back. "Get behind the damned wheel Cal, we've got company!" Sam wasn't usually the one to give orders so Cal was inclined to take notice and act on them, although she made a mental note to chew him out for it a little later. Dean still wasn't speaking, probably couldn't what with all the breathless panting he had going on. The rapport that echoed through the parking lot came from nowhere, felt like it was everywhere and scared the living daylights out of all three hunters equally.

They weren't alone anymore. There were cops leaning out windows and streaming out of the door closest to them. "Run, dammit! We don't move soon, we're not getting out of here!" Cal heard some hysterical tartlet scream. Wait, that was her, wasn't it? Well, hell. Who could be upset if it got those two moving?

Dean went from a run to a sprint, putting a couple of feet between him and Sam when the gunshot began in earnest. Instinct had both men hunching over as they ran. Dean dove into the backseat in a move that mirrored something from the Matrix movies, crashing into the door on the drivers side with the force of it. From there he had the perfect vantage point from which to witness a scene that would haunt him indefinitely.

Henricksen was standing, feet slightly apart, sights set on Sam knowing full well that Dean would fall apart if anything happened to his brother. Sam dove, just as Dean had mere moments before, and the agent squeezed off a shot. Later he would replay what he saw in slow motion in his mind over and over again trying to make sense of it. Right then, all that registered was the look of shock on Sam's face when the bullet plowed through his shoulder, stopping him just short of his destination as he dropped to the ground.

All at once the training their father had put them through as kids kicked in. Dean had scrambled halfway out of the car and was grabbing and pulling a bleeding Sam onto the worn leather upholstery of the backseat.

"Shit, Sam! Hey_, you're okay_, alright? Dude, you're okay." Kneeling on the uneven floor, he pulled Sam's legs up by bending them at the knee so he could pull the door closed with his free hand. Cal, bless her, had already put his girl in drive and was pushing her foot right to the floor. He didn't dare look over to her, not wanting to witness a moment of weakness if she happened to be feeling any kind of fear. Seeing her lose even a little of her cool with his brother bleeding all over him would probably break him.

"No, no I'm not Dean. I think I… God, I think I need a doctor." And that was saying a lot considering they'd been stitching each other up as far back as they both could remember.

"I… _Sam." _Dean couldn't keep the panic or the helplessness from his voice. If Sam needed a doctor then chances were good the police would find him in whatever emergency room they wound up in. Fake identification or not you couldn't miss three people of their description. They were too motley a crew not to stand out. "I can't go with you. They'll be lookin' for me… for us… we'll all end up back in jail." It was no more than a statement of what they all knew but it felt like a death sentence just to acknowledge it out loud. Sam let out a pained sob as Cal coasted through a particularly sharp turn. "_Christ almighty woman!_" Dean's exasperated bark was as sharp as the turn she'd just nailed. The fact that she didn't so much as blink where normally she'd have been ripping him a new one should have said something, but Dean was too upset to notice as much.

Cal wasn't just going to let Sam bleed out, and she sure as _hell _wasn't gonna let Dean leave on them _either_. Being the chick in the group, she had the solution.

"I know a guy, he owes me a favor or two. A doctor in one of the ER's here in Ottawa." The stubborn mule of a man didn't look relieved like he should have been, just skeptical.

"I don't know. Can we trust him? How well do you know the guy. Who's to say he won't call the cops when he realizes two of America's Most Wanted drag themselves onto his exam table?" Always with the lack of faith. Dude, you'd think the man would know better than that by now.

"We can trust him. I saved his life _and _his career. He owes me large. Oh _and _did I mention that I talked to him when we were planning this little break out, just in case someone got hurt? A girl's got to keep her guys safe, doesn't she?"

The skepticism was still etched in the lines around his worried frown but he did seem much more at ease with the idea. Considering the way Sam's face was going from pink to ashy it wasn't like he had much choice at this point.

"Sam? That okay with you?"

"Yeah" Sam smiled weakly as tired eyes started to flutter closed "Cal'll kick his ass if he tries anything." She'd have to get in line first because if anything happened to Sam, Dean was going to kill every last person responsible for it. The good doctor first, because he was more accessible. Then he'd hunt down the FBI agent.

"Okay. It's not much of a plan, but it's somewhere to start." He was pulling off his shirt to put it over the hole in Sam's shoulder. No words were necessary between the brothers. They'd been in this type of situation often enough to be working through routine. Dean ripped the shirt in half right down the back and folded the two pieces as neatly and quickly as he could. Placing the first piece on the hole just above Sam's chest he reached down and moved his brother's hand over the wound. Sam, for his part, pushed down as hard as he could to keep pressure on it and hopefully slow the bleeding.

"I'm gonna set you up so Cal can keep both hands on the wheel after she lets me out. You've gotta promise me to keep talking to her, alright. No closing your eyes, not even to blink, until the doc clears you to. Got it?"

And Cal's plan to keep them all together was backfiring, because he was going to take off for the farmhouse anyway. He was to right, of course. The less of them there were to hide, the easier it would be to get in and out of the hospital without being noticed. Right or not, she didn't have to like it.

"I'll give Fran a call and let her know what happened." He leveled a sober look at Cal, the importance of what he was trusting her to do weighing heavily between them. "I don't need to tell you to keep under the speed limit. Don't rush the doc, but don't stay any longer than you need to. Meet you both back at the barn, okay?" The words left unspoken were charged with emotion: _He's all I've got, I trust you. Take care of him. _"Cal… keep me posted, okay?" She couldn't muster more than a nod. Damned if she was going to cry and screw up her driving.

"Tie him in with the seatbelt Dean. Use the shoulder strap, it'll fit right across where he was hit. You can strap his hand where it is and keep pressure on the back bit using his own body weight to keep the shirt bit where he needs it to be." The change of subject was left unacknowledged. Better that way because Dean had a feeling if he said anything she'd get mad at him for ducking out. Her suggestion surprised him. Not that he didn't have something similar in mind, just that she'd had enough experience with treating injuries on the fly to think of the seatbelt as something usable.

"You've done this before, huh?" Of course she had. Her childhood had been a lot like his, minus one brother and plus a slightly more sharing and caring kind of Dad. Stupid question right?

"It was just me and my Dad, right? No extra hands. We made do with what we had." Yeah, he knew what that was like.

His "I hear ya." Was audible only to Sam who smiled weakly, clearly finding comfort in knowing there was more than just the two of them now. Honestly? Dean had secretly been harboring that comfortable feeling himself, at least until recent events had turned everyone's lives upside down and flipped them all sideways.

A tuck here, a tug there and a couple of pats to make sure everything would stay in place and Sam was finally as secure as he was going to get.

"Hey Doc." Cal had dialed out to her ER guy and was making arrangements for him to meet them somewhere safer than the front doors of the hospital. He might have heard a tinny voice drift from her phone _anything you need Cal, you just say the word _but it didn't make him jealous. Well, maybe it did but it shouldn't have.

"I'm thinking a stretcher. Yeah, bullet to the shoulder. I've got to hide the car I'm coming in with too. Can't risk it being recognized." He was trying hard not to listen in but the other voice was coming in so clearly there was no help for it.

_Don't tell me the police are looking for you again. _You could hear the smile in the guy's voice. Huh."Yeah. The popo sort of take notice when you help a guy sneak out of their custody, you know?" _You remember how to get down to the medical supply loading dock in the basement? There's a parking area for the security personnel. _"I don't know… the cops'll be calling the hospitals warning security personnel. They'll have the make and model of the Impala. Doesn't seem too safe to park it somewhere so visible to all the wrong folks." _Don't worry babe, I'll just tell them it's mine. You know how I love my cars._

Sam was shaking his head at Dean. _Don't say anything dude. She's just calling in a favor._ For once Dean didn't, though there was no help for the pained groan that came with the 'babe' bit. There just wasn't time to deal with the jealousy anymore.

"Ten minutes Sam. You think you can hold out that long?" Cal called as she ended the call.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Feels a little better now that I'm sitting up." Weak. Weak was his voice, his grip on the torn shirt, his grasp on consciousness. Damn, he hated to leave his brother like this. There just wasn't any other way.

"Sammy?" Dean was doing something he never did, he was asking permission. One word from his brother and he'd stay.

"You had better pull over soon Cal. He'll have better luck avoiding the police if we let him out off the highway." He'd run to the cover of the trees a couple of feet off the side of the road and then make his way to one of rural back roads the farmers in the area used.

She pulled off so smoothly they didn't even feel the gravel crunching under the Metallicar's wheels. He looked at Cal through the rearview mirror, caught the shine of tears in her eyes and chose to ignore them. "Be careful." He told her as he had about a thousand times before. It was unnecessary (she always did what she thought was best, careful or not) but it felt good to say it anyway. Sam gripped him by the forearm with his good hand and squeezed to get his attention. His expression said _don't worry, I'm okay. _"You be sure to take your own advice." Cal wasn't the only one to act rashly and get themselves into trouble. A sad, indulgent smile punctuated Dean's goodbye. "I'll see you soon Sammy." Sam knew him too well to be able to believe him. Dean was planning to run and given the current state of affairs it would be a while before Sam could follow.

He was already out the door, had closed it soundly behind himself and was running for the cover of the trees when he heard Sam holler out to him. "I mean it Dean, you'd better be careful. Don't you dare make it so I got shot for you for nothing, you hear me?"

"Alright, alright! Quit hollerin' and get moving already. The doc's waiting and you're blowing my cover!" But they probably didn't even hear him. Cal had already pulled back onto the black top, headed toward the hospital. The last he saw of his brother was the shaggy back of his head through the rear windshield as his baby's tail lights receded into the early morning fog.

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_Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. Please feel free to leave me a review. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Dean stumbles through the bush for a good half hour before he pulls out his cell to call Fran. He's drunk with the feeling of being free that came from being able to run, walk or even just stretch out his arm without being held back by walls or doors. There wasn't much time to waste on that sort of thing though so the moment he crossed the closest thing to a road he could find (a rutted, packed dirt back road used by local kids and tractors) he placed the call.

"Well hey there trouble. How'd it go?" It was Sam's phone, since Dean's had been confiscated so she was expecting someone else's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey now, if it's trouble you're looking for I hardly think Sam's the right brother to be dealing with." Her breath caught loudly enough to make it obvious he'd caught her off guard. In that freaky way women have she just knew.

"What happened? Where is he? Is he going to be alright?" Questions fired off in rapid succession so that he felt like he was dodging bullets again. For the barest hint of a second he thought of those times when it had been just he and Sam with no one but each other to share bad news and disappointment. Somehow it had been easier then, shouldering it together with no one else to hurt in the process. No help for it now.

"Henricksen, the FBI guy who's got it out for us, he started shooting at us as we were running from the building to the car. Sam took a bullet through the shoulder. Should have been me. I should have been bringing up the rear, but he kept shoving me ahead of him and… well, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done." There'd be time enough to wallow in all that guilt and self pity later, when he put the whole damned country behind him.

"Oh my God. Is he? Tell me he's okay Dean." Right. He never had been the good one at this. Delivering bad news tactfully had always been Sam's specialty.

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine. Cal took him to see this ER doctor who owes her a favor. I got the impression he's done patch work like this for her before. She'll be driving him back home before the day's out." Hopefully he'd already be gone by then. Would be nice to avoid the messy arguing that would be involved in leaving her behind.

"Oh my God. Good. Oh thank God. Alright. How about you, where are you? Are you okay?" Sam would have filled her in on the blow to the head he'd been dealing with since the initial arrest. It was still so weird to have someone out there care enough to ask the simple stuff like that.

"Yeah. I'm good. I mean, I'm worried. That's unavoidable. Who the hell knows how this is all going to play out, right? But I'm not hurt and honestly it just feels really great to be out of there, you know?" His skin had been crawling with the need to be able to fend for himself while he'd been stuck in that room. Once the headache had begun to fade there had been very little to do in there and Dean was not the 'sit and wait' sort of guy.

"Honey, we're just glad you're out of there. Where are you? I'll send someone out to pick you up. Better bring your appetite too, the kids have been up for hours making breakfast. You'd think today was Christmas they're so excited to see you again." She laughed then, a light happy sound that conjured up thoughts of sunlit summer days and wide open fields. It would be good to be back there in the arms of their family even if it was just for an hour or two before leaving again.

"Uh, I'm not really sure where I am. Cal pulled over and let me out on the shoulder of the Queensway, heading in to the city. I'm on a dirt road about a half hour walk from there. Sorry, but that's the best I can do." They'd been around long enough to get to know major roads and general areas in that part of the province, but not long enough to know the back roads by name.

"Alright, don't worry. I'll give the girl a call and get a better idea of where you ended up. You just sit tight and try to stay out of sight. Someone'll be there real soon to get you."

Yeah. Sit tight. He was getting pretty good at that. Good thing there wouldn't be too much more of that.

Turned out he wasn't waiting more than fifteen minutes. Fran sent Maggie around to pick him up and take him home. They rode in silence, which wasn't all that odd. She never really said much around him, not because she was too shy or scared to. Maggie didn't natter on because she didn't have to. She could just be herself and he wouldn't think twice about just accepting her the way she was. Dean, for his part, didn't say anything because it was easier to hunker down in the passenger seat and keep watch in case they were followed than have the conversation he should have been starting about the fact he planned to leave.

By the time the pulled into the long drive to Cal's farmhouse he had already reverted back to the Dean of old. The one with the walls and the complicated inner dialog filled with regret, angst and self loathing. He charged through the screen door intent on running up to Cal's room, grabbing whatever he could see that was his, tossing it all into a bag and retreating back to the bunker in the barn where the feds wouldn't be able to find him.

The sight of a table set for six, the center of which held everything from eggs and flap jacks to coffee and juice, stopped him in his tracks. He loved the sentiment; would have given his left arm to be able to sit down with everyone and enjoy a noisy, bustling meal with these wonderful people. But he couldn't. Not only because he couldn't afford to invest any more of himself in a family he now realized he couldn't keep, but also because it would be careless and dangerous for him to do so.

Fran had him wrapped in a hug, Jason clinging to his side and it was all he could do to mumble into her neck. "I can't Fran. I'm sorry, I just can't. This is the first place they're going to come looking. I can't be sitting here with you guys when they do." His eyes had gone wide, his cheeks flushed bright red with the effort not to give in to the emotions that wanted to spill right out of him.

"I know Dean, I know. We warned the kids. Do what you have to, we'll make you a plate to take out to the barn with you." But it didn't do much to make Dean feel better or ease the conflict that was building within. He was letting the kids down, would be doing worse later just to keep them safe.

Maggie didn't hug him like Fran or cry with the relief of seeing him safe like Jason had. She had a tougher outer shell than that. Mags was practical. She walked over to the coffee maker and poured him a mug of caffeine then placed it right into his hands the moment they were free of well meaning folk. There was too much respect between them for her to push herself on him in some emotional display of affection. Not that he didn't want her to do the emo-kid thing. A little normal wouldn't hurt her right now after everything she'd been through. But it was exactly what she'd suffered that had her keeping her distance.

Fran kept Jason occupied by tasking him with filling a plate with food. Dean didn't wait around in the kitchen at all. In fact, he would have run up the stairs if it weren't for the full cup of hot coffee in his hand and the fear that he'd spill it and leave a mess they'd have to clean up after him. Maggie followed him up and helped him pack. She went straight for the dresser and pulled one open while he threw his empty rucksacks on the bed. They worked in silence, she handing him t-shirts and socks that he stashed in one of the bags with the speed and efficiency of someone who'd spent all their lives living out of luggage of some sort or another. Then, when she pulled open the drawer with his boxer briefs in it she moved to the closet.

How long had it taken him to stop fighting himself so that he could settle in and enjoy this little bit of comfortable he had with Cal? Weeks, months, probably more than that. Five minutes and two sets of hands was all it took to erase every indication he'd ever held a place in this home. He had to assume that Sam and Cal had stashed his hunting gear back into the Impala's trunk while he'd been in jail, because it wasn't anywhere in the house. Once the clothes were packed there was just the tape deck. He toyed with the thought of leaving it behind but decided to toss it in the bag too. He'd need something to drown out the quiet when he was alone in the motel rooms along the way.

"I'll go let Franny know we're heading over to her house to pack up some of Sam's stuff." Now the truth could be heard in Maggie's voice. The reason she'd been so quiet apparent in the resolved calm she spoke with. She knew. She knew he was leaving them and was assuming Sam would follow because so far he and Dean had been a package deal.

"Don't bother Mags." He couldn't be the reason Sam walked away from all of this. He wouldn't be. "Just ask her if Sam or Cal've called yet. I need to know what's going on with the car." She shot him a puzzled sort of sideways look as she left the room, not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. Well, she'd figure it out soon enough, or maybe Fran would explain it to her. Either way she was better off without him.

There had been a promise made. He was directly responsible for the wellbeing of those two kids. They wouldn't be well if he stayed and they wouldn't be okay if Sam left. Casey would just have to live with the fact that this was the best way for him to fulfill his duty to the kids. Maybe it would help for Casey to know that this would be the hardest damned thing he'd ever done and that it would tear him apart just to do it. Maybe not. Only time would tell.

Working in a bar suited Fran for the simple reason that she was _loud_. Her words carried easily up the stairs and across the house in answer to Maggie's questions from Dean. "They called just before Maggie pulled up. Sam's fine but the doc wants him to rest a bit at the hospital. He's hooked up to an i.v. so they're thinking two and a half, maybe three hours before they can leave." Maggie was back upstairs, standing silently in the doorway when Dean let out the curse he couldn't hold back. His car was at the hospital. On the one hand, it was great news that he'd be able to sneak away the way Cal was famous for. Sam and Cal wouldn't be any wiser for it until he was long gone and then it would be too late to follow. On the other hand, there was the matter of the Impala. He'd have to head into town to get it or put someone at risk by asking them to drive it out of town for him.

"The doc doesn't want Cal and Sam leaving in your car. Says it would make the job he's done redundant if Sam's stitches popped out while he was getting arrested. She's got the keys to his sedan and he's offered to drive your car out to Bobby's for you. They figure he can hide the Impala better at the yard and it would be easier to hide you out here if the glaring obviousness of that car of yours wasn't sitting in the yard. He'll leave when Cal and Sam head home."

Wow. Well that solved his problem didn't it? Damned if the finality of it all didn't floor him. Not much left to do now but load up a vehicle and go. It would have to be something that wouldn't call too much attention, so not the Mustang, especially since he'd be ditching it and crossing the border on foot. Couldn't very well go through border patrol when the FBI had you on the high alert list. So maybe the old pickup in the barn? Yeah. That would probably be best. Easy to hide, hard to find and no one would be the wiser if it went missing and suddenly turned up again. Okay. That was enough of a plan for him.

The young girl watched him change the plates on the beat-up old farm truck and load most of the stuff she'd helped him pack into the back. She seems unsurprised, as if she'd watched him do it a thousand times before. Him and plenty of others before.

"You're not coming back, are you?"

Damn! How the hell did the kid manage to read his mind like that? The hope he'd been harboring was that he'd be able to tide her over awhile by pretending like everything would be okay. It was the cowards way out and it made him no better than any of the other folks who'd left her throughout her life. Probably best that she see right through him now, before he follow through on that mistake.

"Mags." He sighed wearily, this was a conversation he wished didn't have to happen. "I've gotta go. It's the only way to keep you guys safe. There's just no way I'm going to stick around here and risk getting everybody tossed in jail if they catch me anywhere near here. They'd send you and Jace back into foster care. I can't take all this away from you like that." _But this won't be the same without you here _was the sentiment he felt rolling off of her. What she said instead was "But eventually you'll have to come back though, right? When all this gets worked out?"

Yeah. Sure. 'All this' like the record he had with the FBI, the file about two feet thick sitting on some desk in some office somewhere painting him out to be some psychotic serial killer. Or the credit card fraud that they'd pinned on him, rightfully, along their long road of evidence gathering against his character. Sure. Those were easy to take care of, right? He'd just walk in to one of their offices and explain everything about the hunting. It would all be some funny misunderstanding that they would laugh off. His record would be expunged and he'd be free to go back to life as he knew it. How did you explain the impossible to a sixteen year old girl who had already lost so much?

So difficult to hold back the feeling of defeat, knowing damned well it probably _wouldn't_ get worked out without a lot of time behind bars. From where Dean stood it was pretty obvious that he was back to life on the run and off the grid, only this time he'd be more alone than he'd ever been. There just wasn't any way he could come back. This life was lost to him forever.

He didn't lie to her; just couldn't do it. Not when he'd promised he never would, even if it would have been the kinder thing to do.

"_If_ we can ever get this worked out. _If_ we find a way to sort this all out I'm definitely coming home. You've got to know though Maggie _if _is looking pretty impossible right now. I'm pretty damned sure _if_ isn't ever going to happen." He hadn't wanted to tell her because he didn't have it in him to disappoint her. Nothing he said could tear the glimmer of hope from her eyes. Too many folk had made a sport out of that before and her faith in him was that strong. Great, so this would be the hurt that kept on hurting. As if he could feel any worse about it.

Hugging her close, he wondered why in the hell he'd been gifted with the closest thing to kids of his own he'd ever come to only to have them ripped away so quickly. "You watch out for that kid brother of yours. Don't give Sam and Franny too hard a time and leave your past behind you. You'll be fine. You'll see." Brave face firmly pasted on in the form of his most charming (if more than a little skillfully faked) he pulled away and he sent Maggie back into the house. Another smile and a quick wave to the faces in the window before heading to Bobby's. He needed his car, it was all he had left of home.

Sam and Cal got back a few hours later, a little worse for wear, to find Dean gone. The signs were easy to spot. Jason was quiet and moody, Maggie was nowhere to be found and Fran was puttering to keep busy. They were barely through the door and Sam was dialing the familiar number with the hand that wasn't numb. To Dean's credit, he picked up right away. Not that Sam was feeling up to giving him credit, the way he just up and ran like that. "Where the hell are you man? What happened?" What the hell was going through his brother's head that he figured running away would help things?

"Cops showed up. I hid until they left but it was safer to…" Sam knew a line when he was being fed one. Dean was a damned good liar, but he'd never been able to put one past his brother. They knew each other far too well for that.

"Cut the bullshit Dean. You would've called if the cops had showed." There was a pressure building right at Sam's temples, probably because he knew that getting anything out of Dean over the phone like this was going to be next to impossible. He'd have to find him first before they could fix whatever was going on in Dean's head.

"Yeah, well. It's still safer for me to get gone and stay gone. You're already gonna have the hell of a time explaining away the gunshot in your shoulder when they come looking for me. Better for everyone if no one knows where I am." Great, so now they were dealing with stubborn, over protective Dean. Martyr Dean. Impossible Dean. Fantastic.

"So I should take that as 'don't bother asking where I am 'cause I'm just going to dodge answering you or lie to you' then, right? Because from where I'm sitting it sounds like you don't want me to meet you anywhere so we can figure this FBI problem out together." Yeah, he sounded pissy. He was entitled to be pissy. He'd just been shot getting his pain in the ass brother out of jail and now the ungrateful jerk was giving him a hard time. Didn't help that it was so noisy. Was that on his end of the line, or Dean's?

"Look, could you just try to see this from my end of it Sam? The kids are only just settling in with you and that girl of yours. Cal's still on the mend. The FBI's got too much on me not to want to give my closest a hard time. One wrong move, one iota of proof you guys had something to do with springing me out and all that falls apart." Sam didn't have to listen to closely because he knew what the party line would be. Looking around he realized everyone had gone dead quiet around him, listening in to see where the conversation was going. So the noise was wherever Dean was. Interesting.

"Is that a dog barking?" Sam changed the subject on a dime. The bark was familiar, deep and throaty. Rumsfeld? "Dude, are you at Bobby's?" The question took them both by surprise because even for Sam that was fast.

"Uh… yeah." If Dean had seen the question coming he would have made something up, deflected, maybe he'd have picked a fight to get Sam off topic. As it was he had nothing so he just told the truth. What did it matter? He'd be long gone the minute the doc showed up with the Impala. Even if they tried they'd never make it to Bobby's before he was gone.

Deep breath Sam. Remember who you're dealing with. He's just trying to protect you, and he probably doesn't get that he needs protecting more than you do right now.

"Look, I get what you're doing. I had a feeling you'd take off like this. For the record? If I didn't have a hole in me I'd be facing you right now." They both knew it so Sam didn't need to speak the words, but he felt better for having said them. He might as well have just challenged Dean to come home to peddle his excuses to his face.

"I'm not coming back home Sam, and I'm not going back _there _either." 'There' being the small cell with the tiny window he'd gotten to know so well in the past few days.

"Nobody's going to let it come to you going back to jail. Look, just stay where you are okay? I'll meet you there. We're doing this together, just like everything else." Just like they'd always done, the only right way to face a problem.

"Don't bother, I'll be gone before you get here." He didn't like the finality in Dean's tone. It meant he'd made up his mind and, like their father, he wasn't going to budge.

"What? Okay, fine. Say I don't go. You've got to talk to me man. Tell me what your plan is. Let me help, even if it's from here." Cal was on her feet now, ready to reach for the phone. She didn't like the way this was going and it wouldn't be too long before she decided there had to be some action taken.

"Dude, you come with me and we put the kids at risk, don't we? They'll _know_ you had something to do with breaking me out. It's not that far a stretch to include Fran and Cal in their suspicions. You think they'll let Jace and Mags stay with Fran then? They'll end up back in foster care."

Nobody wanted that. Dean was right, and Sam really hated it when he was right. Especially in this case.

"Okay. Fine. _But_… Look, you want me to let you do this? Then you're going to have to promise to call me. _Daily_, man, not just whenever the hell you feel like it like Dad used to. I want to know whenever you make a move. I want to know you're okay." Maybe he'd feel like he was doing something even if it was just keeping tabs.

"Okay, okay. Fine. You got it." At this point they both knew Dean would agree to anything to get Sam to stay put long enough for that hole in his shoulder to heal.

Then, Dean hit him with the other big issue. "Listen, about Cal?" Because _she_ probably wouldn't understand. She'd hunt him down like some kind of rabid animal. Oh, but Sam wasn't going to be the messenger on this one.

"Yeah, she's right here, just a sec." If Dean had something to say or ask out of the woman, he could do it himself.

"No! Sammy, don't put her on. I need you to stall her. Take any chance you can think of to keep her from…"

"Going after you? Dude! She can take us _both_ down easy on a good day. I'm injured and on pain killers here. I might have psychic powers but that doesn't make me a miracle worker." There was steam rising somewhere in the kitchen behind Sam and it wasn't a kettle of water boiling. It was Cal and she was angry.

"Just buy me a little time, okay? I'll be outta here by sunset. I just… I need a little time." To disappear.

"I'll do what I can. No promises. You know what she's like." There wasn't a force on earth that could stop her from trying to find him if she thought he needed a good boot to the butt.

"Yeah, I know. Whatever you can do, I appreciate it." He'd just have to hurry then.

Cal reached for the phone and put it to her ear just in time to hear him hang up. The click might as well have been gunshot to open a particularly important race. She was frantic. Tossing Sam's cell phone on the nearby table she ran up the stairs to her room, found it gutted of Dean's things and then ran down the stairs again and out into the yard. Sure enough the truck was gone too.

"DAMNIT!" Her scream echoed through the yard, startling a flock of birds in the orchard behind the house so they took to the sky in a flurry of wings and feathers.

Okay, think Cal. Think. A car. She'd have to drive fast to get there before the doc did with the Impala. How long would it take to pack a bag? Five minutes? Three, if she bought some clothes along the way. Looking down at her watch she figured the time that had gone by since they'd left the hospital. Not long, maybe twenty minutes. Yeah. It could be done. She could do this.

"Cal, get in here. We've gotta talk about this." Sam called out to her, obviously under orders to stall her. She hadn't needed both sides of the conversation to get that. Well, the hell with it. She was going and that's all there was to it.

"Maggie, grab the keys to the 'Stang and pull it out of the shed, would ya? Keep the motor running, I won't be more than a few minutes."

True to her word, just a few minutes later Cal was speeding down her own driveway leaving four very stunned people in her wake. Cal was known for her speedy, stealth getaways. No one had ever really understood how fast she could move until they saw her that day, running off to catch up with the man who might one day be responsible for the complete loss of her sanity.

"Damnit Dean!" Her mantra the whole way there.

* * *

_Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. Please feel free to leave me a review. :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Cal doesn't stop even once along the way. Driving with single minded determination and well above any speed limit she comes across; she catches up with Dean just as he's loading up the Impala. The smell of barbecue wafts across the yard as she opens her car door and runs to him. It's instinct that has Dean opening his arms to her when she jumps on him, wrapping herself around him like some possessed blanket. Face buried in her neck and hair he takes a deep breath like he's coming up for air, like he hasn't been able to breathe in years.

"What the hell are you doing here?" "I was hoping show up." They spoke at the same time, neither all that sure whether the relief they were feeling ought to be there. There was a danger in the air still. Dean hadn't said anything about his plans for the near future and that left a lot of 'what if's' hanging in the balance. This reunion could go a lot of different ways.

"Bobby's got the barbecue going, won't let me leave until I eat something. There's lots." He left the offer open, partly hoping to get a little more time with her before he had to leave and partly hoping she'd just go so they could avoid the fireworks that would inevitably explode in his face when he told her what needed to be said.

"So you're playing this like you were expecting me to follow, eh? He'd set her down and she was steady on her feet again. Steady in her attitude too from the sound of it. "Alright. I missed breakfast _and_ lunch on your account so I guess a little food might be a good idea before we hash this out."

Okay. She was being reasonable. So far so good. "Bobby! You mind if I put a pot of caffeine on? We've got company." If she'd skipped breakfast she'd probably skipped coffee too. Cal without coffee was far more dangerous and volatile than her usual pain in the ass self.

"Company? Ah _hell_." Clearly Bobby was thinking Cal might be the feds or something equally undesirable. From the amount of hunting paraphernalia that could be seen in the windows of his place it was no wonder he'd be a little uptight about company. Half of it had the potential to get him arrested too. "It's all good Bobby. It's just Cal." Surely that would make it all better, right? "You idjit, you haven't talked to her yet, have you? Just like a Winchester, procrastinating the uncomfortable stuff." Apparently it wasn't her presence that was bothering Bobby, it was something to do with Dean and something he hadn't told her yet. Oh boy did that ever get her attention. This was something she wasn't going to let go.

"Hm. So is there something you need to talk to me about, there, Winchester?" She already knew what was coming. Cal had hoped that the only reason he'd left so quickly had to do with avoiding the police and the feds but deep down she'd known all along that he'd just been trying to make a clean break. It was the reason she'd been driving all day. She had no intention of letting him go, not after all the effort he'd put into making her want to stick around. Dean was on some shaky ground. "Yeah. Uh, there are probably some things we should talk about, sure. It isn't anything that can't wait until after we eat." Wave that white flag Dean, like your life depends on it because let's face it, it probably does.

Cal was too edgy to take the truce. The sooner she knew where they stood, the better she'd feel. "No, no. Let's not waste time here. There's been enough of that already. I want to know, what's so incredibly important you had to cut and run and make me follow you on no sleep to hear it? I'll bet it's good." Good? Maybe not so much. This was turning out to be every bit as hard as he'd imagined it would be. Yeah. When had anything with that woman been easy?

"No, really Cal. You said it yourself that you haven't slept or eaten yet. Do yourself a favor and take a minute would ya? Have a bite and then I'll fill you in on what's going on." One little reprieve, just the one. Please God, Cal stick with being reasonable long enough to work this out peacefully. Please let her not have some kind of psycho fit when he tells her she's not coming with him and breaks off whatever 'it' is they have going on between them.

Electric mischief flashed bright in the clear blue depths of her eyes. If there were dark circles surrounding them, the contrast only served to make her look the more terrifying. She'd had a better idea than talking. "No, you know what? Forget eating. We can get something on the road right? I haven't laid eyes on you in days. Why don't we grab some take out, fool around in the backseat of your car and then hole up in some motel somewhere for a little while until the heat dies down some." That was her best case scenario, the one he would have suggested himself if there had been any possible way to take her with him.

Cal was telling him exactly what she wanted, leaving herself vulnerable in ways she never did. She was leaving herself open to his rejection. Now it was up to him to take her or leave her at the risk of stomping all over her fragile, unnaturally exposed heart. He didn't know what to say. Oh, he knew what he _wanted_ to say, and it went somewhere along the lines of _hell yeah, let's go._ He also knew what had to be said and the bone jarring need not to left him tongue tied.

"What are you waiting for Dean? We've wasted enough time already, let's just get in your car and go." This was an impossible first. There was no angry outburst, just a calm request that he make this right and invite her to come with him.

_I can't sweetheart. _He wished there was some way to make Cal see that just the thought of losing her somehow because of all of this was something he didn't have the strength to face. Better to walk away. "No. Cal, I'm doing this alone." He didn't know how he managed to get the words out but there they were, necessary and creating a great wide crater between them. Now that they were finally out he braced himself for the fallout. Literally. There was the conscious slight spreading of the feet for better purchase just in case she tried something, the squaring of the shoulders the better to ward off a slap or something if it came at him.

"What do you mean _no_?" She was speaking just a little too quietly, asking the right questions in the wrong ways. "Alone eh?" There was a catch to her voice he wasn't used to hearing. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it and almost started to relax, ready to try and comfort her if it came down to it. Then she loose a loud '_are you kidding me?' _that would have made him laugh if it weren't for the seriousness of what he was doing. This was the moment she realized he was breaking up with her, for lack of a better way to word it.

Crap, here we go. There was no mistaking the red glow to her cheeks. Here came the anger. Well that was okay, he could do angry too. It would probably help if they were pissed off at each other. Cal was really good at being angry. He was banking on that anger being her ticket to letting him go and moving on easier.

"I'm not arguing with you about this Cal. I'm leaving alone, you're not coming with me."

"And you've just taken it upon yourself to make that decision for me, have you?"

"Yeah. It's too dangerous."

"Oh that's rich! You're worried about the danger eh? I'm a _hunter_ Dean. Do you not remember that crap with the Earl? You can't get much more dangerous than a psycho stalker vampire. Being chased by a couple of FBI agents is cake compared to that so don't you go peddling that 'I don't want to put you in danger' crap."

"Different levels of danger, Cal. Say whatever the hell you want but we both know that being chased down by the feds is a whole different ballgame than working a job. If the feds shoot to kill there isn't much room for the Hail Mary, get out of death free cards we usually get to work with. I don't want to put you in that position. Don't ask me to, I won't."

"Oh I'm not asking, I'm not letting you do this! You're not allowedto make this choice for me." Any composure she had managed to maintain had just left the building entirely, if the shrieking was any indication.

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for me. Listen, this FBI guy, you were there. You saw how he shot at Sam already. He was shooting _to kill_ and thank God the guy was a crap shot and missed because a few inches further down his shoulder and Sam would be _dead_ Cal. Hell, if it had been you we both know you _would_ be dead! I am _not_ taking you with me. I won't let you put your life on the line for me Cal. It's over. _We're_ over."

This was it, his line drawn in the sand. She wouldn't let him go easy, he was going to call it all off. Somewhere in that conflicted, emotionally constipated head of his he'd made up his mind that Cal's life was in the balance and he wasn't going to let himself become the reason for her death. Now it was her turn to be left speechless. She turned away, unable to stand the sight of him and paced away restlessly. Her chest was heaving and her mind was whirring away as she tried to wrap her head around what was happening. _Was the pigheaded jerk actually dumping her in a fit of over-protective machismo?_

"Let me get this straight, just so we're on the same page here. _My_ past catches up to me and you won't leave me alone until it's taken care of. Then, when it's over and I leave you in the middle of the night with every intention of moving on you track me down because you want to be with me…" Her voice trails off just like her thoughts and she's pacing, wearing a track at his feet. She wasn't going to bring the big 'L' word into this but the ghost of it was there and it would haunt them both for as long as it could.

Bobby had come closer, Dean could see him out of the corner of his eye and gestured to him discreetly to just stay back. Let this play out. There was still a chance she might just walk away instead of flipping out. Knowing Cal like he did, she was probably going to blow and it was better if Dean caught the brunt of it. So far Bobby was about the only person Dean hadn't hurt in this whole mess of a situation. He wanted to keep it that way.

"We're happy, right? I mean, until you made this pig headed choice to end things by yourself, we were happy right? There was staying power to what we had going. It wasn't just a bit of fun and games." He could hear her thoughts as if they were his own. _Why else would he come find me and make me believe we were worth it regardless of how often I ran because I was afraid to commit and lose someone else all over again? I couldn't have read him that wrong, could I? _

She was going off the reservation. Self assured, tough as nails Cal was doubting herself and it was killing him that he was the cause of this breakdown. Resolve began to wear around the edges as he fell into reassuring her. If there was ever anything that woman was going to doubt he was going to make damned sure that it wouldn't be their time together. "Yeah, definitely. We were happy sweetheart. We were great." Together they'd been better than he'd ever had it in his whole life, actually. Telling her that now wouldn't do either of them any good now though so he kept that part to himself.

"So we're good and then your shit hits the fan and you figure it's best to take off or break things off meaning it's okay for you to be there for me, but when _you're_ life gets tossed around and turned upside down I'm not allowed to stick it out with you. Is that it?" Yep. Pretty much, except he didn't much like the way it sounded when she said it out loud like that.

"Uh, in a nutshell, yeah." When all else fails, pull out a wisecrack right? He was completely unapologetic. Had to be, or she'd lose the anger he needed her to hang onto. Then she might start to cry on him, hate herself for it, make him melt and feel guilty about causing it and then he'd just end up giving in and that wasn't an option. Better to fall back on being an ass.

Cal didn't go so much for the smart ass attitude and that was about when the arm waving and the French swearing started. Dean would regurgitate every last thing she said to him over and over again during the long, lonely nights ahead. Right then he couldn't process any of it. He just stood there, stone faced and serious. Dean was sticking to his resolve and no amount of anything Cal threw at him would make a difference in changing his mind.

Cal was a girl who knew how to walk away from things, sometimes with grace and dignity other times with a well placed body part swung out in anger. Sometimes that meant taking off in the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping. Sometimes that meant distracting everyone and ducking out the back door. If Cal had cared less about Dean this would have been the moment she just turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him in her dust for the last time probably with a parting gift in the shape of a broken nose or some pretty sore family jewels. It was only because of the way she felt for him that she lost all her composure completely and lashed out.

She was a flailing, screeching, clawing mass of fury like suddenly that solid wall of self control that kept all her emotions at bay had just crumbled to dust and everything came pouring out so she didn't know what to feel first. This was the one too many in her long list of losses and she was broken. Who would've thought that Dean Winchester would be the one to break the great Cal O'Sulivan?

"Jesus kid, what in the hell did you say to her?" Bobby had to shout over her wailing just to be heard. "Would ya give me a hand here?" Dean had managed to maneuver her around so he could wrap his arms around hers, pin them to her sides and pick her up off the ground without getting kicked too many times. Her arms were secured but that didn't stop her from trying to bite him and squirm out of his death grip with everything she had. She had reached her limit and had jumped right over the edge both feet first. Hysterical was her default setting right then and would stay that way until she'd worked it out of her system.

Bobby came running, unsure what he could do to help but there all the same in case she got loose and started trying to kill Dean again. "What the hell d'you want me to do? And don't you get it into your head that I'm going to grab onto any part of _that_." He waved a vague hand in the direction of Cal, who was doing her best to physically tear a strip out of Dean.

"Oh great. Thanks Bobby." And if he grunted it out in a slightly more nasal tone than usual it was just because the woman had somehow managed to contort herself enough for her elbow to reach his nose.

"What, you haven't ever heard the one about the woman scorned? Cal's not your average woman. Only an idjit would… well, I don't have to finish that now, do I?"

Another grunt and suddenly Dean had her slung over his shoulder. Déja vu much? "Hey, not that I don't appreciate the pep talk here but you think you could get the front door before I drop her sorry behind and actually hurt her?" He'd had an epiphany. He'd toss her in the panic room, lock her in one of the bedrooms or maybe just the nearest closet. She could take her frustrations out on the locked door and he could make a quick clean getaway. Best case scenario she'd wear herself out and pass out, waking up calmer and easier for Bobby to deal with. Worst case she'd end up hurting herself trying to get out, in which case Bobby could fix her up.

"So, uh, what do you want to do about this?" He asked, gesturing tentatively at the writhing mass of female fury Dean was still holding up and off the ground.

"You got an empty closet somewhere?" It was delivered as a joke but he was dead serious. Anywhere they could put her so she could wear herself out without hurting herself or anyone around her would work.

"You're not serious? You want to lock the woman in a closet until she calms down. Seriously? You know that illegal right? Not to mention wrong on all kinds of different levels, even for us." Bobby was right to think he was crazy. He was feeling pretty unhinged himself at the moment. Cal wasn't the only with a little self doubt today.

"I'm not seeing a whole lot of options right now or haven't you noticed the screaming banshee action going on here?" Bobby's expression left nothing to the imagination. He didn't know what in the hell to do with Cal, though his first choice looked like it leaned toward heavy sedation a white coat and a padded room.

"Dean Winchester locking a girl up to keep her from beating on him, I never thought I'd see the day. Criminy, boy. Didn't you figure you had enough trouble chasin' after you? You had to go and piss off the one chick who will hunt you down just to kick your ass." That Bobby, he had a way with words. "I think she broke your nose, boy."

"Yeah, well, better me than you right?"

"You won't hear me argue with you there."

"Hey! _She _might be plenty pissed off right now but _She_ is still right here and perfectly able to hear you talking about her. You better put me down Dean or your nose will be the least of your worries."

"Ha, right. I've heard that before. I put you down you're gonna go for the jewels and I happen to be in enough trouble. No way I'm putting my boys in danger too."

It was like she'd flipped a switch inside of herself. Care. Don't care. Dean had seen this kind of drastic mood change once before, and she'd been going into shock at the time.

"I put you down, you promise not to lay a hand on me or Bobby? Or any other body part or inanimate object either for that matter?" She had gone limp in his arms like the fight had gone out of her completely. Hard to say if she was faking him out, but if he could get away with not having to lock her up somewhere so he could run away he'd like to.

"I'm not pissed off at Bobby, he's got nothing to worry about." In other words Dean was probably still fair game.

"Not helping yourself any, SheRa." The look she shot at him said very clearly that he was not allowed to call her that. He didn't care.

"I promise I won't hurt you Dean. You want to end this and leave, just put me down and walk away if that's what you really want. I won't stop you." The look she gave Bobby said she was too exhausted and hungry to put any more energy into the fight anymore.

"Put her down Dean." And just like that, it was over. He put her down as gently as he could and she tried her damnedest not to touch him any more than she had to. Right, because suddenly he had the plague or something. The second he let her go she turned her back on him and walked toward the smell of the barbecue. "I'll go get the burgers off the grill Bobby. They smell like they're about to burn."

"If you're leaving you won't get a better window than this." A healthy warning from a man who probably knew what he was talking about. Dean was being dismissed. Without a word he hung his head and went the opposite way from where Cal had trotted off to. Bobby was right, there wouldn't be a better time to go. The Impala was all packed up and Cal was about as calm as she'd ever be. She'd been through worse, she'd be okay. She always was. Dean, on the other hand, was pretty sure he wouldn't be.

Minutes later Bobby and Cal were slathering ketchup and mustard on their charred hamburgers to the sound of the roar of an engine kicking up dirt as it tore out of the front lot. Cal's eyes widened just a touch, enough to give away her surprise that Dean had actually left her. It was final. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Bobby let out one word, a mixture of curse and term of endearment. _"Idjit"_ Cal couldn't agree more.

* * *

Later, back at Fran's because she wasn't ready to walk back into the farmhouse just yet, Sam can't believe what he's hearing. If anyone stood a chance at getting into that car with Dean, it was 'don't back down or take no for an answer' Cal. "What do you _mean _he just left without you?" Like it was so impossible to believe that his bull headed brother could just walk away from a girl without looking back.

"You heard me Sam, he doesn't want my help. He doesn't want _me_ anymore, okay? A girl's not just gonna hang around when her company's so obviously unwelcome." And _boy_, had Dean made _that_ clear. Not that she was about to admit that it'd hurt or anything. _Nah_, Cal doesn't do emo heartbreak, remember?

Well, except that she totally does, according to the three empty Ben and Jerry's pints laying across the back seat of her Mustang that she'd worked her way through on the drive back home.

"So what now then?" Sam, always with the wanting to have a plan. Cal didn't want a plan, in fact Cal was voting for the `let the dude fend for himself' plan. Her scowl a was scary combination of part frown, part smirk with a note of finality to it that worried Sam more than he cared to admit.

"Now, I'm going to Disneyland." Wait! _What_?

"Nobody likes a smartass Caitlin." Gotta love Fran for calling it like it is.

"No, actually, I _am_ going down to Disneyland. Bobby had a lead on a job. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Apparently they've got a nasty poltergeist situation in Cinderella's castle." It's not like she could kick _Dean's_ ass, right? He was long gone now and he'd sapped all the fun out of it by _dumping her _(the ass). She was going to hurt something, she might as well be productive about it.

"Huh. Is that right?" There was that patented Sam skepticism. "Well, I never figured you to be a quitter Cal. Never seen you run away from a fight before. Guess there's a first for everything, right?" Ah yes. She knew this trick. Psychology 101, give the girl a challenge and she doesn't have the choice but to prove a guy wrong. Not gonna happen. Not this time.

"You don't think a poltergeist is a good fight? Tsk, tsk Sammy." Her voice was flat. She wasn't getting any of the usual thrill that came from knowing there was a good fight on the horizon. This was the first time any of them had seen her flat out defeated.

"Oh, it's a fight alright but it sure as hell isn't the one you oughta be fighting right now." Sam just kept on pushing, like he thought Cal wouldn't have already done everything she could to convince Dean he'd been wrong to go it alone. For a genius, he wasn't always the sharpest tool in the shed.

"No, you're right there. I'll be taking care of _that_ bit of business tonight." There was only one way a girl could deal with a bad break up, and with a best friend who runs a bar she had that all covered.

"But, Dean's a twelve hour drive away…at least." Again, Sam didn't quite get it. He still thought she was going to go back after him. _Absolument pas, _definitely not. Been there, done that and was nursing the angst to prove it.

"Oh honey, I'm not going after the guy. No no _no_ no _no… Y'see _there's a poor little worm stuck at the bottom of a bottle somewhere and I intend to find the little sucker and…" Oh now, there you go. Sam was getting the picture loud and clear, she was sure of it. His eyebrows had shot clear off his forehead in surprise.

"Right. So you're giving up on Dean to 'rescue' the worm in a tequila bottle. Nice." Well 'nice' wasn't really what she was going for. Nasty was probably a more accurate way of describing the way she was planning to take things in the following few hours. She wasn't above correcting Sam about it either.

"Who said anything about a rescue mission? I intend to _eat_ the little bugger, the better to be _really, nasty sick _in the morning so I can associate that painful, gross feeling to your brother and never suffer the urge to be with him ever again." How was that for psychology Sam? Cal was a sucker for punishment but there was no way in hell she was going to let Dean Winchester stomp all over her heart again. He had big freaking feet and steel toe boots, and it hurt like hell when he hit below the belt.

"Oh, great." Throwing his good hand up into the air in a fit of frustration, Sam pulled an impressive scowl and rolled his eyes so hard there was a good risk they'd never quite move the same way again. "Nice Cal. Real Nice." It should have felt better to have Sam understand she'd given up; that if he wanted to find and help his brother he was on his own. Unfortunately, knowing she was abandoning the guy when he'd never been anything but kind o her didn't sit all that well. Fantastic, just one more thing to add to the growing list of things to drive you to drink. Just slather on a little sass, girl, and get to the wallowing so you can move forward, eh?

"Thanks. I sure thought so. Now if you'll excuse me?" Ducking her head she brushed past all six feet forever of upset Winchester, making for the bar.

Fran shook her head as Cal jumped the counter and reached up for a clean shot glass from the shelf that hung under the back mirror. Then, after commandeering both the tequila bottles out on display she brushed right past him all over again like he wasn't even there. She didn't bother with silly things like salt or limes. Tonight was for serious alcohol consumption and any frills seemed like unnecessary fun. The pool tables, the jukebox, the local boys; none of these things held any interest for her whatsoever. In the most antisocial move Cal had ever made, she found herself a spot in a deserted booth at the very back of the bar and as far away from people as she could get. Uncapping the first bottle with her teeth she bent down to the business at hand. No time like the present to start trying to forget right?

"She's seriously doing this, isn't she?" Sam was shocked. The Cal he knew was all about taking charge and taking action. He hadn't known her long and had never known her any other way. Fran, on the other hand, had known her a far sight longer.

"You might want to call Bobby and let him know that she won't be leaving for Florida tomorrow." By Fran's count Cal was already on her sixth shot. Record timing even for that girl and at the rate she was drowning herself in booze she'd be living off the bathroom floor indefinitely.

Yeah. Fran was right, it was probably best Bobby find someone else for the job. Maybe in the morning she'd wake up hung over enough to be mad at Dean for driving her to drink in the first place. If he was lucky she might even get back on the 'help Dean get out of jail time free' bandwagon with him.

Then again, judging by the murderous muttering that was coming from her booth, he might be getting his hopes up a little too high.

* * *

_Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. Please feel free to leave me a review. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Never again. Not ever again. Never, ever, _ever_ was she going to touch another shot of _anything_ ever again. Not on an empty stomach, not on a full one. Not in a bar or in a car. Not on a boat, with or without a coat. _Never_ again.

After spending the better part of the day bowing to the porcelain altar and praying to whatever God would listen to just_ please_ make the hurting stop, Cal wasn't too sure if she'd managed to reach the goal she'd set out to acheive the night before. So far she'd only managed to associate the monster hangover from hell with her favorite cheap high-test Mexican booze_. Damned Mescal with its wrinkled, disgusting little worm._ The only thoughts she'd managed to conjure up for Dean 'heartbreaker' Winchester had been the comforting kind. She was wallowing in happy memories of mornings spent lying around in bed, all rough stubble and warm sheets. No matter how much she was pining for the man and hating herself for it, the thought of a peaceful moment was way more pleasant than playing the 'when did I eat that?' game.

"So, did it work?" Fran asked wryly from the bathroom doorway. Cal couldn't see the smile from her position leaning over the bowl, but she could feel it was there. Same way a person could feel it when they were being stared down from behind: intuition.

"I don't know what you're talking about, and quit smiling so loudly. You're giving me the headache from hell." Cal didn't do hangovers all that well either.

"That would be a no." Fran did laugh then. Cal never would have imagined hating that particular sound until just then. "Alright, so maybe the binge drinking might not have been the brightest of ideas." She admitted more to herself than for Fran's benefit.

"Oh, I don't know hun. It was pretty well thought out. You wanted to associate the mother of all hangovers with the guy who broke your heart to keep yourself from running back if he ever comes calling again. You know as well as I do that it's a better reason than most folks have for drowning themselves in alcohol. The logic was really hard to argue with, which is one of the reasons we didn't bother trying until you got to the bottom of that first bottle." Fran wouldn't come into the room (maybe it was the raw stench of sick, _ick_), but she stood sentinel in the doorway apparently intent on staying by Cal's side if only from a safe distance.

"Yeah well, it's not like I would have let you take the stuff away, anyway." Someone would have ended up getting hurt. Anger management wasn't her strong suit.

The silence that followed that particular statement was thicker than molasses in January. Maybe Fran just kept whatever comment she might have had to herself out of respect. Cal was heaving again and she'd never felt so pathetic. "_Uuuugh_." Her moan echoed back at her from somewhere in the depths of the swirling waters below. "Did I really eat the worm?" The thought seemed so much more gross now than it had the night before. Her stomach gurgled at the hazy memory of a wrestling match between her and Sam as she was about to chug the last swig of the bottle; the same one that held that tiny little pickled worm. _Ugh. _Yuck.

"Yup, you sure did. The good news is that's when you reached your limit. You were just too drunk to care if we took the other bottle away." Not surprising in the least. Things got really shady in her mind after that.

"Did I hit someone?" There was the vaguest impression of a fist being swung out at someone, but nothing solid or definable. She could very well have just imagined it. "Nope. You tried but I don't think you could've hit the broadside of a barn by then." Okay, that was a little uncalled for. Granted Cal wasn't exactly the town drunk. She rarely drank in excess and even less so to get flat out plastered. Fran didn't have to sound so amused by it. Besides, Cal could throw a dart or a knife with deadly accuracy blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back in just about any situation. Miss the broadside of a barn eh? Not likely.

"Okay, fine. Did I pick someone up then?" As unlikely as that seemed at the moment Cal was going to entertain the idea of having found herself a man for to have a little fun with. After all, that did tend to be the other way things went when she was out for a good time. "Nope." The grin was back in her friend's voice and it was like nails on chalkboard. "Honestly Cal, by the time you started thinking along those lines you wouldn't have been able to _hit on_ the broadside of a barn either." Crap. Well there went her reputation. _Girl, you should have thought of that before you started downing the booze like it was water._

"I'd ask you what did happen, but I have a feeling I don't want to know." Cal was really trying not to overreact but it was hard. Emotions were really close to the surface and she tended to lean toward the fight side of 'fight or flight' when things got this uncomfortable. If moving were an option she'd probably peel herself off the cool linoleum and shoo Fran right out of the apartment.

Instead she pressed her burning forehead to the cold floor in hopes of easing the pounding in her head. Fran waited for her eyes to close then waited a while longer for the deep slow breathing that meant sleep before finally stepping foot into the bathroom. She took a cool facecloth to Cal's face, neck and hands hoping to wipe away the unpleasant feeling of sweat to give her friend a bit of relief. She waited another few minutes and when Cal stayed unconscious Fran tucked a folded towel under her head.

Cal was renowned for her ability to drink. She did it loudly, she did it raucously and she did it with a lust for life not many people were able to maintain. Not once in all the years she'd been coming to Fran's bar, not even when it had belonged to Fran's parents, had anyone seen or heard of the girl getting drunk or hungover. This was the type of first that stemmed sleepless nights for friends who cared enough to worry. "Don't you think for a second that I'm going to let you make a habit out of this, girl." Fran whispered to her sleeping friend's form. Cal answered by curling in on herself into a fetal position and moaning softly in her dreams.

* * *

When Cal opened her eyes again it was dark. The light in the ceiling above her had been turned off and the sky was lit with stars outside the small window. They winked at her, mocking her inability to shut off their bright cheerful little lights. "You suck." She thought she was talking to the stars, but she could just as easily have been speaking to herself.

"Gee thanks." A soft, amused male voice answered her from somewhere in the darkness. Sam's voice, if the long legs stretched across the floor were any indication. What was he supposed to be doing, keeping her company? Nope. The guy was babysitting her. _Fantastic._ Maybe if she ignored him he'd leave her alone. He wasn't Dean, after all.

"I wasn't talking to you." She grouched. "And I don't need a babysitter." What she needed was a hot shower, maybe a coffee if she could stomach it. If not then a Gravol would do. Oh, and a bed. She definitely wanted a soft, warm bed to sleep the rest of this hangover off.

"I'm not your babysitter Cal. Just think of me as a concerned friend." Sure. A concerned friend with ulterior motives. "You're trying to catch me at a weak moment so I'll agree to help you with Dean." If she sounded paranoid voicing her suspicions out loud like that he didn't say a word about it. He didn't deny the accusation either which didn't help the paranoia at all.

"So, about last night… I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before." She scowled ugly at him and stuck out her tongue. "I don't make a habit of it. Bad for business, worse for my health." Cal struggled to pull herself up using the rim of the toilet and the edge of the bathtub as leverage. It took her four tries and she had to push Sam's offers to help away twice but eventually she managed. She was as wobbly on her feet and her whole body was warring against her but this was a step in the right direction. At least that what she thought until she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh my God! What happened last night?" Not that she really wanted to know, but given the rats nest on her head decorated with bits of lord-only-knew-what and the shadow of a bruise forming on her shoulder and cheek it seemed prudent to ask. Who knew what she'd done or who she'd pissed off? Better to be proactive about it and find out if someone was going to come back looking for the girl who had started trouble the night before. Maybe that's why her friends had decided she needed supervision.

"Before or after you wrestled me to the ground for the dregs at the bottom of the bottle?" He flashed her a crooked smile that said he understood, having been in a similar place before himself. It helped to ease the sting of the memory a little but poked uncomfortably at her injured pride. "After." She spoke carefully around the lather of the toothpaste in her mouth. "I remember the stuff before that just fine, thanks." When her stomach stayed calm at the taste of fresh mint in her mouth she began to hope that the worst of it was behind her.

"There isn't much to tell." He warned her. "None of it's pretty." No surprise there. How bad could it possibly have been? Sam had been there when she'd picked a fight with the Steroid Cowboy, he'd watched her knock Dean on his ass and give him a fine example of a black eye. He'd seen her feverish and hallucinating. He'd even seen her with wings getting down with her Martha Stewart homemaker self. One night of binge drinking couldn't really be that bad next to all that, could it?

"Do you remember falling out of the booth? That was pretty funny actually. I wouldn't be too surprised if you have some interesting bruises. You couldn't get back up, but you kept trying." Cal tossed a death glare over her shoulder in the general direction of the doorway. Sam had settled in to tell the tale of her ridiculousness, sitting with his back resting against the doorframe, one foot tucked under him for comfort. "You wouldn't let anyone touch you so we couldn't get you up off the floor either. I don't think I've ever seen you so unreasonable." There might have been a snapshot somewhere in her foggy head of an angry girl shoving away more than one set of well-meaning helping hands. Cal shoved that thought away as hard as she had the hands the night before. Better not think about it yet. It still felt like she was poking at a sore tooth. Too afraid to ask what came next she waited for him to continue, furiously trying to brush out the tangled mess of her hair. How had she managed to get her butt upstairs to Fran's old apartment if she couldn't even keep her own feet beneath her? As if reading her mind the answer spilled itself from Sam's lips.

"You crawled across the floor, out the back door and halfway up the stairs to the apartment." Well at least she'd had the presence of mind to get somewhere a tad more private before the alcohol started coming back to haunt her. It took a minute before she worked out in her fuzzy head that she hadn't made it all the way up to the apartment on her own steam. "Just halfway?" The disappointment was clear. Cal's larger than life pride did not like the thought that she'd needed help to make it the rest of the way.

"Yeah, uh, you fell asleep with your head hanging over the bottom of the railing in a really weird way. We're not really sure what it was you were trying to do, but again: funny as hell." Good to know he saw the humor in her most embarrassing moment. It was really funny alright, when you weren't the one feeling the morning after burn of shame and gut rot. "Uh-huh. _Sure_ it was." But Sam just pretended like he hadn't heard her.

"I had to carry you up the rest of the way. Fran helped me settle you in on the couch but sometime after closing you crawled your way to the bathroom and I don't think you've left the floor since." Alright, so the night before hadn't been one of her proudest moments but it wasn't meant to be.

"Oh. I ruined your running shoes, didn't I?" Perfect! That would be the one moment of clarity she'd have, wouldn't it? As if she needed any other reason to hate herself right now. Sam huffed a quiet laugh but stifled it almost as soon as it came out. There was a distinct moisture in Cal's eyes that made them both more than a little uncomfortable.

Out of respect for the 'tough girl' front Sam left her to detangle both her emotions and her mop of hair, stepping out of the bathroom to putter around the living room. Never so far away that he couldn't hear her, he was smart enough to give her the distance she needed to get herself together again. _Ha! Right. Like that was even possible right now_.

"You mind if I start a pot of coffee?" Ever the thoughtful one, he was checking to make sure the smell wouldn't set her off to puking again. As much as she wasn't looking forward to any kind of strong scent right then, the thought of a cup of strong hot coffee definitely held some appeal. "Only one way to find out, right? Go for it."

When Sam walked back in on her ten minutes later he almost dropped the two full steaming mugs in his hands. Cal was sitting on the floor, her back against the side of the tub, still working out the same tangled bit of hair with tears streaming down her face. On the inside she was swearing like a sailor, but Sam couldn't know that. On the outside she was just a blubbering mess of girly emotion.

Sighing, he set the mugs down at her feet and took the brush from her hands. "Just… drink up, okay? I'll be right back." It said an awful lot that she didn't argue or fight him forthe brush so she could go right back to it. Closing her eyes she simply hugged the closest mug to her chest like it was her only lifeline.

Sam came back with a couple of towels, a comb and a bottle of cooking oil. "I know how this looks but just hear me out, okay?" Cal just closed her eyes again and took a very careful sip of coffee. She didn't twitch or stir when he sat behind her. She didn't ask any questions when he draped one of the towels over her shoulders and draped the second one over his lap and the little bit of linoleum that separated them. Maybe it was because this was Sam treating her with kid gloves that she was okay with it. Maybe it was because he treated everyone with this kind of consideration and care that she wasn't balking at it. Couldn't possibly be because she was that worn out.

How Sam knew to put the bottle of oil in warm water to heat it up Cal wasn't too sure, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He spent the better part of the next hour reaching in and out of the tub behind him, applying warm oil to her nightmare 'do' and waiting patiently for her to become something like human again.

"I'm starting to get what Fran sees in you, Sam." It was about as close to a thank you as she could manage at this stage of the game. She was too jaded to miss that he probably had an ulterior motive, like trying to convince her to help him clear Dean, but it was nice that he cared enough to put the effort in. You didn't take it upon yourself to detangle a girl's nasty mess of tangled hair just to get a favor. That sort of gesture speaks of genuine affection for a person. He was her friend and he wanted to help her feel better, no matter how gross she was right then.

The sting was bad when he started to work the tangled bits. The oil helped, but no matter how hard he tried to soften the pull, every tug at the knots felt like he was ripping the hair right out of her skull. "Okay?" It worried him that she wasn't making a sound. Shoulders slumped, Cal was completely apathetic. "This isn't going to work, you know." Unresponsive she might be, she still had ears and there was no doubt that whatever Sam said she would soak up like a sponge. It was her nature. "You're not going to be able to let this go." That got a grunt but not much else.

Not wanting to push Sam stayed quiet, letting her mull that statement over a bit. Every so often he'd hand her some hair to hold out of the way while he brushed another chunk of it out. "Dean's an ass Sam. It's not that I don't want to help you, it's that for the life of me I can't think of a reason good enough to help _him_ right now." Still Sam said nothing choosing to wait instead, combing away while mulling. This gave Cal more time to think things through fully. The dude knew what he was doing, she had to give him that much.

"Where did you learn to comb out tangled hair so well, anyway?" She felt him tense a little bit, his fingers gripping at strands a little tighter. Not so much that it hurt but enough for her to feel the difference. Sam spoke just as she was opening her mouth to apologize, tell him he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to. "Jess had hair a little longer than yours. She played softball and it always used to get tangled under her hat." Right, Jessica. Things had become so comfortable, Sam so happy with Franny that sometimes it was hard to remember just how tragic the Winchester's lives had been before Cal came stumbling into it.

"I'm sorry." She truly was. "It used to be I had my shit together, you know? You're brother, he makes me feel like there are loose screws rattling around upstairs. I've spent my whole life believing that no matter how hard life gets it's worth it. The tragedy is there to remind us how important it is to enjoy the good stuff." It was either that or shut down completely. That was why the hunting lifestyle appealed to her so much. It was a constant reminder to enjoy while you can because it can get ripped out from under you at any time. She sighed so heavily it actually pulled at the hair in Sam's hands. "Now it feels like what's the point, you know?" Probably just the hangover talking. Maybe some lingering lethargy from the head injury. Couldn't possibly be depression by Winchester.

Sam set down the comb and wrapped his arms around her from behind in the kind of brotherly gesture that had never been available to Cal before. "Hey. Don't do this to yourself." A mumble somewhere above the chin now resting on top of her head. "My brother's an ass, but he means well." They both knew she understood that much. Until she'd sought the Winchesters out Cal had very much lived the same lifestyle as Dean. Well, mostly. She'd intentionally avoided building up any kind of relationship outside of the hunt to protect herself from that vampire and after that it was to protect everyone else from the type of trouble her lifestyle entailed. After all, it wasn't unheard of for your work to follow you home sometimes and that rarely ended well.

Sam was intuitive enough to know that the words, though clearly understood, needed to be said and heard for her to get it; _really_ get it. "He's always been too aware of the dangers of the job to want to drag anyone into it. He doesn't have friends outside of the hunt. Dean's too afraid to bring this stuff home because most folks can't hold their own against these things. He's protective that way." In other words Dean took off on her, broke her heart and stomped all over her massively huge pride in order to protect her from something she'd never had to face before: big ole scary Uncle Sam. Yeah, thanks there captain obvious. Knowing that didn't help heal the wounds though, did it? Seriously. What did that say about his confidence in her ability to hold her own?

"The point I'm trying to make here is that you can't change the pig headed ass bit in Dean, it's a part of his genetic makeup and the people who care about him have to learn to live with it." There was a pregnant pause as Sam considered the best way to word the message he wanted relay. "The people who love him know how to work _with_ it." So what was Sam saying here? Where did he figure she ought to go from here?

"I'm too hung over to beat around the bush Sam. What are you saying exactly? You're his brother, I get it: nobody knows the guy better than you. All I'm getting from you is that you know him well enough to work with the pig headed jerk inside when he trots it out. I don't want to work this out like some kind of messed up puzzle like I do everything else so you tell me, what's the next step here?"

"I'm saying we both know he's dead wrong in thinking he has to protect us from the feds chasing him down. I'm saying he made me a promise to check in on a regular basis. I'm saying that if you managed to hunt us both down all by yourself then two against one is totally unfair. Dean doesn't stand a chance. We're going to find him, and while we're looking there'll be time to figure out how to make his criminal record disappear." Jeeze, and all this time Cal had mistakenly believed herself the most stubborn of their little ménage of hunters.

"And Fran, the kids?" Not that she doubted for a second that this had already been worked out between them. Given the way Sam had been holding out on her she figured it was worth asking. It wouldn't do to underestimate the guy now would it?

"You're kidding right? You think anyone from social services is going to try to take Jace and Maggie from the woman who scared my brother off? They'd have to be suicidal. Fran won't stop at costing them their jobs. I think her exact words were 'they won't even be able to get a job at McDonald's, it'll put them within an unhealthy distance of kids.' That woman can be scary when she wants to be." No need to see his face to know he meant it. Anyone who'd ever faced Fran in a scuffle knew she was not to be messed with.

Okay, so maybe getting plastered to within an inch of her life the night before might have been just a tad melodramatic…even for Cal. Maybe. Jury was still out on that one. That particular decision was awaiting a few final bits of information. Information such as whether Dean would choose to stand by his slightly hasty decision to break things off between them when faced with her again. As it was he'd left her a free agent to do as she pleased and it just so happened that at the moment Cal wanted to find herself a Winchester.

"Where do we start?" Just like that she'd changed her mind and they were back in business. She rose to her feet, shaking Sam's hug off totally ready to hit the road right then and there. At least she had been ready on her way up off the floor. Somewhere between sitting between Sam's legs and fully standing Cal went all woozy again._ Damn it! _Sam didn't bother trying to hide the laughter now that the danger had passed and Cal was more solidly herself again. "How about you start by trying to get through a shower and a meal before we start planning a road trip, huh?" For once Cal couldn't argue. After all, what person in their right mind actually _wanted_ to start logging an indeterminate amount of hours in a cramped vehicle after practically expelling every internal organ they had?

Come to think of it, as much as she'd have loved a good hot shower there wasn't a whole lot of energy left after all that thinking and reasoning and hair brushing. She was sitting on the floor again lustily eyeing the cool linoleum as if it were the most comfortable bed she'd ever seen.

Fran was in the hallway, hands filled with freshly laundered towels. The silent conversation she shared with Sam with just the slightest eye contact completely lost on the woman who lay asleep on the floor at his feet all over again.

"You think she'll remember this in the morning?" Sam had his doubts. Cal was more than capable of warping things in her favor when the need arose. It would not be beyond her to do so by using her powers of selective memory. She did like to brag that it was one of her most powerful superhero powers.

"Of course she will." Fran said it with the conviction of a mother and the dedication of a sister. "I won't let her forget it." Because Fran was more than capable of that too.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi all. Just wanted to take a quick second to thank everyone who's been taking the time out of their day to read this little fic of mine. Hope you all are enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. :)

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**Chapter Seven**

When Cal woke again she was alone. The linoleum under her cheek was cool and biting. The oversized towel she was wrapped in wasn't quite thick enough to keep her warm. There were large obnoxious bells clanging around in her head giving her the feeling of being just a tad unhinged.

Disorientation was the name of the game. She had to wonder briefly if maybe this was the result of an awesome night out or a hunt gone wrong. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd had to wonder and it probably wouldn't be the last either. If there was trouble waiting for her, was she near enough to her cell phone to be able to call someone for help? If not, then was there something close enough to a weapon within reach that she could use to defend herself? The spiel of questions got old long ago. She'd been so sure those days were behind her.

All it took was the slightest opening of her eyes for it all to come rushing back at her. She'd become far too intimately acquainted with the base of the sink in Fran's apartment bathroom for comfort, there was no mistaking where she was now. Dean was gone, she'd acted the fool and got herself ridiculously drunk. It had taken two people to babysit her through the hangover and now… Now, what? She wasn't really all that sure.

There were small details of the past day or so that were painfully acute in her mind. The tiniest twitch that had been triggered by the Impala as it roared to life and put a finality to Dean's decision in ways she hadn't expected. An itty bitty twitch but it might as well have been a full body flinch; Bobby noticed it all the same though he hadn't said a word.

The slow burn of the tears she'd somehow managed to keep carefully in check like acid sliding down the back of her throat working its way straight to her soul the entire ride back. Later there had been the similar, more effective burn of the alcohol as it coursed its way past those unshed tears right through her system. Then the disappointment that set in when that moment of numbness she'd been craving never came.

Oh God, she never wanted to think about that crawl of shame again. She'd be carrying the little bruises on her hands and knees from every imperfection on that barroom floor and all over those back stairs to the apartment for a while. Souvenirs of her stupidity. Fantastic!

There had been a sense of overwhelming relief when big familiar hands had turned her over and lifted her off the back steps. Until that moment she'd been convinced that she was going to fall and the ground would swallow her up whole. Cal would have to talk to Sam later about not mentioning any snuggling in she might have done out of reflex. He'd understand… wouldn't he? Sure. Of course he would, and if he didn't then she could always threaten to kill him, right? Not that Cal had it in her or that he'd believe it, but she could try.

So here she was, feeling nasty and tired and achy all over. Oddly she didn't hate the hurt like she normally would. It wasn't the awful _'oh my god I want to kill myself I'm so sick'_ feeling that had stuck with her for she didn't even know how long. Rather, it was the soreness of a body starting to heal. Her stomach was gurgling not out of nausea but out of hunger. Now that was a welcome change. Food. Yeah, she could go for some of that. First she'd have to clean herself up some.

The bar below was quiet which probably meant it was early morning. There was no clinking of glassware being put away or plates noisily unloaded from the dishwasher so it was a pretty safe assumption that the restaurant wasn't open for breakfast yet. This was just as well as Cal wasn't really keen on having Fran's day staff hear her moaning and stumbling her way around cleaning herself up.

Her bag was still packed and in the back of her Mustang so at least there was the option of a quick getaway before Fran or Sam could lay eyes on her. The poltergeist at Disneyland wasn't going to get rid of itself and she sure could use a distraction.

Maybe she'd get lucky and the Tim Horton's would be open by the time she rolled her way out of town. Right. With her luck the only thing available would be that 24hr McDonald's and her first real meal in days would end up being an Egg McMuffin, a greasy hashbrown and a watered down, burnt coffee.

So there it was then, the answer to that nagging 'What now'? _Now_ she would run as far and fast as she could, hopefully leaving the damage Dean wrought behind. It's what she was good at and when she was lucky it worked really well.

Anyone who knew Cal knew that she wasn't a girl to be messed with, but here's the thing: Fran was made of the same stuff and she wasn't one to take no for an answer. Cal could try to back out of her commitment to help Dean, but there wasn't a chance in hell that she'd be able to worm her way out of helping Sam. Fran just wouldn't let her.

There had been one too many 'drinks all around on me' called out at the bar that left Fran swamped with orders. Too many times Cal had snuck out the back not to be heard from until the girl found her way back into town again. Fran wasn't foolish enough to believe she wouldn't do it again.

Imagine Cal's surprise when she stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to find a brown paper McDonald's bag and a Styrofoam cup filled with watered down burnt coffee waiting for her on the coffee table. "Yum_my_" Yes, that was definitely sarcasm dripping from that one word like grease off a hashbrown. Looks like your run of (not so good) luck isn't quite over yet.

Now the million dollar question was: who was it that brought her this little surprise? Not Dean, surely. Too risky. The FBI had been watching the bar since the morning of the breakout. Also, given how he'd left her at Bobby's he wouldn't want to risk loosing any important body parts visiting Cal so soon. Who else then? "Sam?" Had to be. He wouldn't want to risk her running off.

"Get some clothes on girl, we've got some words to have between us before you take off for parts unknown." Fran. Great. Well this was going to be fun. Maybe she could hide out in the bedroom, pretend to be asleep again and then sneak out throught the… "And don't you even think about crawling out the window again. Won't do you any good. I had one of the local boys hide your Mustang." _Damn! _On a good day she'd sneak out the window anyway, find her car and take off all the same. Today was not a good day, though, and she had no desire to go walking all over hell's half acre looking for something that she could get just as easily by having a few uncomfortable words with an old friend.

Well that was that. A pair of comfortable sweats and an old band shirt later she had settled her behind down on the couch across from Fran. She sipped silently at the not-quite-coffee and waited for that shoe to drop.

"Sam's worried about you." Yeah thanks Fran. You go on ahead and go right for the jugular. I didn't really need it anyway.

"Sam's worried about Dean." Because that was a little more accurate a statement. If Dean's entire future weren't on the line Sam would probably just let her work out her issues however she saw fit. Probably.

"Sam's worried about everyone." There she went nailing it on the head again. He was worried about everyone, from Dean to the kids and all those in between. That was true enough but Cal was loathe to admit it. That would mean she'd have to rethink ditching the whole 'find and help Dean' plan. "_I'm_ worried about you." Well _hell._

"Why?" It was the safest response all around. Walking, no running, out the door wasn't an option. Fran probably had her shotgun stashed somewhere next to her seat for just such an occasion. Acknowledging that Fran gave a flying rat's derriere about how she was feeling was also out. Too much guilt lay that route. Picking a fight to change the subject wouldn't work either. Not when Fran was staring her down, daring her without words to _just try it and see where it gets you_.

"Really? Is that how we're playing this then? We're going with ditzy ignorance eh? _Nuh_-uh. I don't think so. Try again." Oh wow, and now she was going to strong arm Cal into one of those sharing and caring conversations. Yeah, thanks but no thanks.

"No. I'm not trying again. There's nothing to try. There's nothing to worry about. I'm Cal freaking O'Sulivan, not some overly emotional kid who just got dumped for the first time. I'm fine." Never mind that this actually was her first real relationship and that it actually was her first time being dumped. She really was find, dammit!

"Look, hun, I hate to break it to you but you're just about the most emotional person I've ever known. Normally you keep a tight rein on your crap. I swear it takes a crowbar to get you to open up about being anything but pissed off."

Cal huffed an angry breath and stood up, already done with the conversation. Fran wasn't having any of it.

"Sit your butt back down, I am not done with you yet." And holy crap, what was with that 'mom' tone? This was something Cal wasn't used to, it had been so long since her own mother had been around. She may or may not have mumbled something that might have sounded like _yeah, whatever drill Sargent mom._ Fran did nothing more than level a look at her to get the silence she was looking for.

"I have known you since grade school, Cal. Not once in all these years have I ever seen you anywhere near the basket case that you've been since this whole FBI business blew up in our faces." Alright, touché. No way she could deny the chaotic way she'd been acting. It had been over the top even for her. Still, there was the matter of self respect here.

"And…?" Maggie would totally be proud of her. The attitude she'd just dished out was so sixteen year old girl it would have been funny in any other circumstance.

"Okay. You're not ready to talk about it yet and I get that. In the meantime my job is to remind you that you've made a promise to Sam." Pointed glare. Ouch. Apparently Fran was fully aware of just what Cal had been planning. Okay, no big surprise there. "You, my dear, are supposed to have my man's back on this one. I know you're not the girl who would walk out on that kind of obligation." Now it was an obligation and was that a hint of a threat hidden there in Fran's tone?

"If I didn't know any better Fran…" Cal was squared her shoulders, gathered her pride around her and got ready to give fighting Fran off with anger the good old college try. Except Fran cut her off before she built up enough steam to really get going.

"You _do_ know better and I am _definitely_ threatening you. Get your shit together, girl, and tow that line of yours or I'll be doing it for you." That right there? That calm, firm delivery of expectation and consequence? That was exactly what was going to make her the mom of the year. Unfortunately this did not help Cal in the least.

She took a minute to indulge in the fantasy that she could still just leave. Impossible thoughts of leaving home behind entirely, sitting behind the wheel of her pretty red car and just forgetting _everything_. There were the kids though. Jason would be devastated that Dean had gone, more so that he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Poor Maggie would probably see his disappearance as yet another rejection.

What would they do if she left too? Strangely Cal found that the answer to that question was one she didn't even want to consider. She just couldn't up and leave. Crap! She couldn't leave!

"I can't…" She started to voice it, like maybe there was some explaining to do for Fran's benefit, but the words died out before they began. Cal couldn't go, but she damned well couldn't face the farmhouse yet either. Had he anticipated never coming back? Did he pack up his stuff and take it all with him? Of course he had. This was Dean, right? The most thorough guy on the face of the planet except maybe for Sam.

"I know babe. I know. You can't go, but you can't face going back home either. Not when everywhere you look there'll be the lack of him." Psychic. Fran was psychic. She had to be to get into other people's heads the way she did.

"The last time I faced an empty drawer in that house was right after Dad died when I packed up most of his clothes to take to the Sally Ann. I…" _I'm just so lost._

"So don't. Don't go back to the farm and don't stay." Sam was standing in the doorway flanked by a very worried looking couple of kids. Their sudden appearance startled Cal enough to make her jump and that was enough to get that attitude flowing again.

"Sorry guys, I couldn't hold these two off any longer. They were so worried it was the difference between my driving them over or they sneak out the window and walk." Good choice Sam. It was hard to ream a person out with a couple of kids hanging off your sides as if their lives depended on it. Instead she just shot him a _what the hell?_ sort of look. _Explain to me exactly how I'm supposed to not go home and not stay when I've made the promises I have._

"You've already got people to look after your land while you're away on a job, right? So there's no need to head back there unless it's to get to the books in the barn. This won't be the first time we've dealt with poltergeist so it's not like we'll need anything from in there before we leave."

Oh. _Oh! "_Sam?" _Are we going to Florida? _She couldn't possibly be understanding him properly. Not this soon after breaking Dean out of jail. Not with the kids just settling in to their new lives. No, she had to be getting this wrong. What else could he possibly mean then?

"Do you really think Sam and I are that ignorant Cal? _You're_ a runner and Dean's so protective that he'd do anything to keep the people he loves safe." That right there was why Cal didn't like to let people in. You let folks in close enough to really get to know you they get to be able to predict the things you'll do. "When the kids first came home with us we talked to them about how you, Dean and Sam travel a lot for work. They get it, and I can handle them just fine." One statement tantamount to Fran's blessing.

"Oh my God. I think she's speechless." Sam said it to make the kids laugh but he was right. Maybe it was just that she was still a little addle brained from the hangover but they had truly managed to surprise her.

Jason had moved past being happy to see Cal up and moving again and had noticed the McDonald's on the table. "Is that for us?" He asked hopefully, testing out the patently Sam kicked puppy look he'd been perfecting (with Dean's help, of course).

"You do realize I'm going to kill your brother for teaching him how to do that, right?" Fran was clearly not impressed, but it got Cal laughing if even just a little. "Go for it you little monkey." Cal's nod of approval enough to have both kids diving for the bag.

"How's the war wound Sam?" In her bout of self loathing she'd completely forgotten the gunshot he took to the shoulder, two? Three days before? "It's got to be itching and pulling by now. You sure you don't want to wait a while before hitting the road again? I can do this on my own y'know." Now that she was capable of thinking about it, brushing out her hair like he had the day before had to have been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

"What this?" This tiny little insignificant hole in my shoulder? Yeah smooth Sam. "I've had worse Cal, and I've lived my life in the passenger seat of a car. Driving to Florida won't be that big a deal." Well hell, when he put it that way it sort of sounded like she was babying him. There went what little edge she had left.

"Ok then. In that case I guess I'd better be asking for my keys. Oh, and fair warning. We are stopping off and getting some real breakfast before we get going." She'd need the time to figure out how in the hell to get them back into the states without going through a border crossing. This is where contact with Dean would've been good. Would have been nice to find out how he'd managed it, being one of America's Most Wanted and all.

Pulling a face he gave her the 'yes ma'am' salute. Cal would've given him the finger but there were kids in the room, no matter how teenaged one of them was. Besides, copping attitude wasn't exactly conducive to getting her car back.

"Oh, they're downstairs in the stein on the bar where I keep the rest of 'em. Car's still out front where you left it. I swear girl, you're loosing your edge if you're as easy to fool as the local boys are."

Did you just hear that whooshing sound? That was Cal's tough girl image flying right out the window. _Alright Catie, my girl. Looks like you've got to figure yourself out all over again, eh?_ One thing was for damned sure, whatever came of this wild Dean chase it was going to be an adventure. Where there's adventure, there's challenge and there's just nothing Cal loved more than one of those.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_The Duke's Not Dead_

Life alone on the road alone wasn't as bad as Dean had thought it would be. It wasn't a picnic, mind you. He had to apply a diligence that bordered on paranoia now that he was without a body to watch his back. The ghost of Sam still sat shotgun in the Impala and in his head. Sometimes he forgot he was alone and started talking out loud, to his brother or Cal, only to realize that _oh yeah _he wasn't about to get an answer.

Still there was an unexpected peace that had come with the exile he'd chosen to impose on himself. The people he loved were all together, happy and safe. The FBI and their Canadian equivalents might pay them a visit now and again but Dean was fairly confident that as long as there was nothing to link him to them they'd be okay. There were a number of perks to being alone that he'd all but forgotten since that fateful trip to Stanford years before. Things like not having anyone to answer to when he made stupid mistakes. It was nice to have the bathroom to himself too. No more chick music in his car or short tempers to navigate around. Not that Dean was perfect or anything. It was just nice to have a little time to himself without having to deal with other people's crap.

Little perks aside, life on the road alone was incredibly lonely. At first it wasn't too bad. He had details to work out. Things like getting rid of all his old aliases and the Id's associated to them and creating brand new ones that couldn't be traced back to his name. It was a job that should have been a whole lot easier with just a quick phone call to Bobby. Call it masochism or sheer stubbornness but Dean figured if he was going to burn bridges he might as well do it all the way. Cutting ties was the only way he could see to make this work, at least until he could work out how to clear the Winchester name in the eyes of the American government. Considering he didn't have a flying clue how to accomplish that particular miracle; that meant indefinitely.

So Dean had to become like the things he hunted. Invisible, transparent… what was that word Sam had always been so fond of? Incorporeal. Their father would have been impressed at how quickly and effectively Dean had jumped off the grid.

On the downside there were no more flashy hotels, which was fine. They'd always been more Cal's style. For now it was back to the no-tell motels that made you pay by the hour. At least they let a guy have some semblance of privacy. There wouldn't be any turn down service to hide the equipment from. That wasn't so bad, right?

Hell, he even managed to get rid of a poltergeist for a contact of his at Disneyland. Drove right out of Bobby's driveway (out of Cal's life for good) and right on down to Florida before even bothering with a name change. At first he thought it was because he wanted to get as far away from the people he was protecting as he could get. After it was over and he was alone in the motel room with no one for company but his good pal Jack it was easier to admit to himself that maybe he just needed to feel like he'd done something productive. Apparently one didn't need family or a girlfriend around to get smacked in the face with a chick flick moment. Dean was perfectly capable of creating them for himself without any kind of inspiration.

So the key to this self-imposed loner lifestyle was to keep busy. It certainly wasn't his first go 'round at alone, so Dean just fell back into old habits. Jump straight from one job to the next. Leave yourself just enough time in between to rest up or heal depending on how things stood once the big bad was properly dealt with. Loneliness getting to you? Take a night off and head to the local watering hole wherever you happen to be. There was always a card game, a pool table, a dart board and a pint waiting somewhere.

The traveling itself was getting sort of tough considering how many places he felt the need to avoid. New York for one, and not just the city but the whole state. No telling how many folks knew Cal by one alias or another, let alone those who knew her just by face. Either way, if she was looking for him chances were somebody would recognize him and put in a call. That was one woman you underestimated at your own risk. He wasn't making that mistake again.

South Dakota was another one. Bobby had long feelers all over the country but Sioux Falls was his home base and it would be easier to stay incognito if he wasn't on the Jedi Master's home turf. There was Virginia, for obvious reasons. Wouldn't do to go traipsing around Big Brother's backyard. Might as well paint a big ass bullseye on the back of his shirt and run around screaming 'come and get me, suckers, I'm right here'.

Kansas was out, also for obvious reasons. Not that there was much there for him short of Misouri Mosely and he wasn't exactly looking to crash on that crazy lady's couch. He knew for a fact he wouldn't be allowed to put his feet up on it and how comfortable would that be while trying to sleep anyway?

Less obvious were the places he and Sam had been made by law enforcement over the years. Oh that was a fun one, trying to trace back every Podunk town and hollow he'd been arrested in _ever_. Talk about the list that never ends.

No longer was Dean Winchester able to just hop in behind the wheel and speed down the interstate on the quickest route from point A to point B. Nope. Now every trip to the corner store or gas station took three hours of planning just to be sure he wouldn't be spotted and taken down while buying a freaking bag of pretzels. It was a royal pain in the assets but what the hell, right? He had nothing but time now. Too much time really. So instead of sitting around stewing over the warrant out for his arrest and this life on the lam, depressingly alone, he went right back to what he knew best. Hunting evil supernatural stuff was a full time job anyway. Who had time to think?

Somewhere along the way Dean lost track of time. One day just faded into the next, sometimes the one after that too. Weeks blurred past without much notice mostly because he just didn't care to. Too much work and not enough sleep tended to do that to a guy. It wasn't like he needed to remind himself of the things he was missing. He was keeping busy, lives were being saved and his mind was being kept as occupied as possible. Every waking moment was spent on survival. If everything else had a habit of catching up on him while he slept, well he just spent less time in bed.

Eventually he found himself in yet another run down motel room somewhere called Potlatch, Idaho. As far as places went it was... well if he was to be honest the best word to use was 'convenient'. What else could a hunter call a place where the library, the coroner's, the sheriff's department, vehicle and driver's licensing, tax collecting, departments _and _court assistance were all on the same property? Recycling center services too. Christ, it was the ideal one-stop shop to get the intel on a job done. Unfortunately it was also a bit of a nightmare logistically if you happened to be on the run, on that list of America's Most Wanted.

Dean was pretty confident going in that there wouldn't be too much trouble. He just had to keep his head down, walk more than drive to keep his baby under wraps. No matter what he did the Impala would get some attention, but if he parked her it would take longer for folks to put his face to the car. He was going to bunk down in the motel halfway across town from the Library-slash-everything else. If they were going to make him he was damned well going to make it harder for them to haul him in than a quick jog across the street.

After an entire day in the resource room of the library surrounded by various piles of kids books, religious resource material and six or seven different versions of the Bible he was starting to think that maybe all that worry had been for nothing. The walk back across town wasn't exactly fun with a rucksack full of books he'd probably never return but it _was_ uneventful so he was considering it a win.

It was somewhere close to midnight when he finally jammed the slightly bent key into the lock to his most recent crap room. The lock stuck frustratingly, as always, but at least he could be sure the room was empty. Luckily this particular hunt seemed to be shaping up to be simple enough. Some weird sightings but no deaths so far, and from the look of things a quick and easy salt and burn would wrap things up nicely. _Almost too easy _the last thought in his head as he stumbled sleepily through the door, boots finding unwelcome traction on the grungy old shag carpeting that was six different shades of nasty gray. (_Ugh_ gross!)

Images of Cal creating lovely, sleepy lumps in bed as she dozed while waiting for him a lifetime ago came unbidden. He didn't bother turning the lights on. All he wanted was to collapse on the bed and lose himself to dreams he knew he wasn't worthy of having. Tossing the lock he took the two steps to the double in the middle of the tiny room and just let himself fall, not even bothering to take off his boots.

"Hell, kid, you're not _at all_ what I expected." A voice so deep you could drown in it had poor Dean leaping off the bed for the door. "Son of a bitch!" Who was this guy? Was this it, the moment the damn feds finally caught up to him? Served Dean right for not doing anything to try and change his situation since hitting the road. So much for clearing his name and going home. He gave up on that one the day he'd walked out on Cal and drove right out of Bobby's yard if he was to be honest with himself.

"You know, the way your friends talk about you I was half expecting the second coming of Christ when I finally tracked your sorry ass down. Frankly I'd say they went a little overboard on the hype." A gruff chuckle that sounded as if it had been dragged through the parking lot outside told Dean exactly what the guy thought of 'the kid's instincts.

"Sorry. I wasn't exactly expecting _company._" Sarcasm dripping thick and heavy off the last, the better to punctuate on delivery. "Wait, what friends? Who the hell are you?"

It was hard to make much out in the dark with the curtains shut so tightly against the sunrise he'd hoped to avoid in the morning. Not hard to get that the dude was big. No, not just big; _massive_. Was that a hat? Great. Yeah, 'cause Dean had an awesome track record with huge cowboys. This was going to suck, big time. He just knew it.

"Relax kid. No need to get your hackles up. We have some mutual acquaintances, you and I." While the cowboy sounded sincere Dean wasn't really the trusting kind. Being alone on the road as long as he had been didn't help the suspicion much either.

"Oh, sure we do." Sarcasm Bobby would have been proud of fell from the corner of a sneer that was wasted in the dim light.

"Yeah. Your brother, for one. He got hold of my number by way of Bobby." Dead silence as Dean processed and tried to decide one way or the other about the big guy's credibility.

"How do I know you're not some cop or fed looking to cut his teeth bringing my sorry hide in." Wouldn't be the first time one of the dumbasses tried it. Apparently the cowboy would have to work a little harder at making Winchester believe him.

"Suspicious little bugger, aren't ya?" Growled annoyance in that coarse concentrated baritone. "How's about you reach out and flip the switch on the lights. Won't very well do me any good to trot out proof if you can't lay eyes on it." If the logic was sound Dean sure wasn't about to acknowledge it. He did, however, want to get a good look at this guy who was claiming to be Sam's new partner in arms. Slowly, carefully, he reached a hand out and batted at the ancient switch.

"Holy crap!" The dude was built like a brick outhouse. Dean was pretty used to being around guys bigger than him, what with Sam being a few inches taller and wider in the shoulder than his big brother pretty much since puberty hit. This guy though? He had a good six inches over Sam easy. First sign of a green tinge to his skin and Dean wasn't going to stick around to hear the '_Hulk__ smash_" that he suspected would surely follow.

Reaching out with a massive mitt of a hand, the cowboy graced him with a warm good-ole-boy smile. "Hey. Nice to finally put a face to ya." Maybe it was rude to just stare dumbfounded at the hand extended toward him but you had to give a guy a break somewhere. Also, there was still no proof that this dude had come on Sam's behalf. The guy was swift on the uptake though, thankfully. Huffing a sigh and rolling his eyes elaborately he started rolling up his obnoxiously plaid shirtsleeve. "No offense, kid, but there is no denying you're a Winchester."

Dean was too busy staring at the two words tattooed to the cowboy's bicep to take any kind of offense. "You knew him?" The question was just a formality really what with the words _Semper Fi_ looking so tiny scrawled across that giant muscle the guy called an arm. "Met your old man in 'Nam. Tried to keep in touch, but after your mom passed on… well, I'm sure you know how solitary he got to be. Saved my ass a time or two, I'm not ashamed to say."

If Deans eyes were shining a little it wasn't from the tears collecting there that he wouldn't let fall. No sir, and he wasn't speechless either. He was just… weighing his words. Yeah. Exactly.

"Did Sam tell you …"

"That the old man is with your mom now? Yeah. Sorry to hear it kid. He was a good man, your pop. The world lost one big damned hero when John Winchester moved on." Well _hell_. Maybe there was a tear or two after all. Damned if Dean was going to admit to them though.

"So my brother, he figures you can lend a hand does he?" When he found his voice again it sounded off, like he'd been yelling himself hoarse. Blame the late hour and exhaustion. Winchesters didn't get emotional like that.

"Look kid, I might only be a 'former' marine to you but what you got to remember is that you can't be career military without making a few friends in interesting places." Dean wasn't a big fan of mystery and this dude was just oozing it. There was history there, though, and right this second it held just enough weight in the midst of unresolved Winchester Daddy issues to give the cowboy a leg up.

"You shacked up somewhere yet?" He had to ask because the prospect of sharing this tiny space with the Incredible Cowboy was not a pleasant prospect.

"Two doors down. Room 103." _Oh thank God!_ He'd have a hard enough time sleeping knowing this guy was in his back pocket and had already broken into his room. It was a relief not to have to extend the invitation to share. Maybe he'd actually manage to sleep tonight after all.

"Alright, I'm gonna level with you here. It's been the hell of a long day and I am dying for some shut eye. How about I come knocking in the morning and you can tell me all about your genius plan over coffee and breakfast?" That's right, dude. It's the Winchester in this situation that's calling the shots.

"Cora's Diner on seventh street has the best coffee this side of Boise." At least the guy had some good taste, current wardrobe aside.

"I know it." Dean had been breakfasting at Cora's every time his travels took him through Idaho since he'd turned twenty and first discovered it.

"Seven thirty. I'll be in the third booth from the door." Huh. Okay, so there went calling the shots. Whatever. He'd let it go for now.

"What's your name, there, Urban Cowboy?" Because no self respecting hunter worth their salt would go to bed without looking up the dude who managed to break in and get the drop on them.

"You can call me John. I haven't used my real name since I left the marines." An alias, huh? Well at least it was a place to start.

"Got a last name?" Maybe the guy used it enough for Dean to be able to scare up some info on him with a quick internet search and some discreet phone calls.

"Yeah, Wayne, like in the westerns. No relation." Damned if the cowboy couldn't smirk with the best of them. "See ya in the morning." And he was out the door, spurs on his boots clinking every step of the way. _Huh_. He must've missed the horse in the parking lot on the way in 'cause this guy wasn't exactly the type you could picture behind the wheel of a Chevy.

* * *

"Sam! Move your keister. Checkout's in ten and if we're late they're gonna heap on an extra thirty bucks to the bill." Jeeze. Cal was starting to hate the screechy tone that had become her default setting lately. Thankfully Sam was pretty understanding of where it was coming from. In turn she tiptoed around a little more carefully when he got extra broody. Missing home and Dean were no longer mutually exclusive and knowing they were both currently farther away than Sam liked brought out the emo in him like nothing else.

"Ow! _Shit!_ Yeah, I'm shaving as fast as I can here Cal. Keep rushing me and you might have to put some stitches in my face before we head down." He was starting to sound a lot more like Dean. Not necessarily a welcome change but one she'd just have to live with.

"Oh. Sorry."_ Wait, did he say he was shaving?_ That beard had become such a part of Sam that she couldn't picture him without it anymore. What on earth had possessed him to decide to strip himself it off all of a sudden? Lately Cal had become all about giving folks their personal space, so prying into a 'why' wasn't going to happen. He'd probably tell her in the car on the way to wherever they were headed next anyway. "You think you can be done in five? I can load up the car while you finish up so all we need to do is hand in the keys before we go." Another unexpected change that had come about recently; Cal had developed a need to be accommodating. Anything she could do to make life easier for others and she was on it. Somewhere deep down was old Jacob's voice speaking meaningful words about the reasons behind the need to please others and making sure it wasn't at her own expense just to get approval. Generally she managed to ignore it, regardless of how loud it got.

"Sure. Five minutes should be plenty." The bathroom door slid open to reveal a very shirtless Sam, shaving cream frothing up his face so he looked like some calendar model version of Santa Claus. "Leave me the heavier ones. You heard the doc last night. No heavy lifting until those bruised ribs heal up." There was still a very fundamental part of her that screamed insistently in her head that she could take care of her own damned self no matter how badly she got herself mangled. That one was harder to ignore.

Knowing full well what kind of inner monologue she had going on, Sam cocked a brow in her direction. "I'm not going to need to tie you to a chair like I did when you broke your arm after Disneyland, am I?" How much did she hate that he was reminding her of a particularly low, self destructive point that was better off forgotten? "A little more credit please? I'd like to think I've become slightly more reasonable since then."

There was no denying that she had. All it took was an evening alone in that chair with her broken arm and the realization that she was willing to drive herself to the point of being hospitalized to avoid facing her own thoughts. That was plenty of reason for her to take a good long look at herself in the mirror and start bringing about some serious changes. Truth be told she'd set herself on that self destructive path as a child, after her mother's murder. Every time she lost someone she loved she took a step closer to jumping right over the line to the point of no return. Dean's departure had almost shoved her over and she almost hadn't seen it coming. Thank God for Sam, or she wouldn't have realized it at all.

"No thanks papa Winchester. I got the message loud and clear. Just hurry up, would ya? Seven minutes to check out and you're not even decent yet." Needless nagging since he had already bent back to business over the sink, staring his reflection down as he skillfully dragged the disposable blade across skin over and over again.

They made it with three minutes to spare. The clerk tried to charge them anyway. Cal took it as a productive way to vent some of that frustrated energy and got him to refund it to them. Nothing as drastic as her usual antics, mostly because of how sore her chest still was, but a little cleavage and a few sharp witted words and they were on their way.

"I'm driving." Sam announced, naked face sporting a smug grin instead of whiskers for a change. "What? But it's _my_ turn. Also, in the interest of fairness, I did promise to drive slow for the sake of my ribs." But he was already digging the keys out of her jeans pocket and taking that larger than life stride over to the driver's side of the car.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I have to do the driving. We've got somewhere to be in an hour and there's no way we'll make it with you behind the wheel, broken like that." "Somewhere to be, eh? I call bullshit. Maybe I should have a little chat with Franny about how unfair you can be sometimes. Especially since I've promised to limit my crazy antics." "Nope. No bullshit. I got a call last night." The smile grew, reaching right across his face. It put a sparkle in those brown puppy eyes and a bright blush to those newly smoothed cheeks.

"A call huh? Must've been someone pretty special to put that kind of a smile on your face." Must've been while they'd been x-raying her ribs the night before. The pain had kept her from any kind of restful sleep, dreams shallow and easily shed at the slightest sound. No way she'd have missed a phone ringing in the middle of the night. "John Wayne, actually." Now she knew he was screwing around with her. She rolled a pointed look across the dashboard toward him and scowled to show him just what she thought of his little ploy. "John Wayne, the Duke himself, called you last night did he? Was he looking for a salt and burn so he could finally achieve that eternal rest or was he after a revival spell to get that next movie deal under his belt?" Cheeky she could do.

"Nope, not the Duke. Same name, no relation. Remember all those calls Bobby and I made all those months ago?" His smile was so bright it could blind a person. "Are you saying we have a lead on where Dean is?" Not that Cal wanted to be a downer, but Dean Winchester was not currently her favorite person. Part of her never wanted to find him, regardless of the amount of effort they'd put into it so far. "I'm saying John Wayne managed to sneek into Dean's motel room last night to be sure he had the right guy and then called to tell me where they were going to be for breakfast this morning." If all went well they'd be there just as the two men were sipping coffee, waiting for the waitress to come take their order.

"Okay, so putting aside just how ridiculous that sounds; our first lead on Dean's whereabouts just happens to be his breakfast plans with John Wayne Not-the-Duke? How far away are we talking exactly?" Sam looked at his watch and kept on smiling. "You know how we've been in Spokane the last few days?" Trust a Winchester to drag it out for suspense. "Get to it, Sam." "He's been in Potlatch since yesterday." An hour and a half away, what were the odds? "How many times do you figure we've been this close to him over the last eight months without a clue?" A sobering thought. To say that Sam was excited to finally set eyes on his brother would have been a gross understatement.

He looked away from the road just long enough to get a fix on Cal. She wasn't her usual talkative self. Hard to say whether it was from the pain, the lack of coffee or the prospect of seeing Dean again for the first time since he walked out on her. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I know this is a lot all at once. I could go to the diner on my own if you…" Bless his big sasquatch heart, Sam was offering to drop her off somewhere, giving her the opportunity to hide out until she felt better. Too bad she'd never been the run and hide type of girl. Not that it wasn't appreciated. "Your heart's in the right place Sam, but you're forgetting who it is you're talking to here. Bruised ribs and ego aside, a girl's got to face up to reality when it bites her in the butt. I won't hide from this. Besides, you're going to need some backup when he sees you're there. The way he's been making us chase him all over God's Green Earth he'll probably try to duck out the back when he sees you."

A little too harsh a dose of reality dimmed the light in Sam's eyes and Cal was immediately sorry for it. This was the happiest she'd seen him in ages, short of the few times they'd gone home to see Franny and the kids. Jaw set in grim determination he checked his watch again, an OCD type habit that would haunt him the whole way to Potlatch. "John said they'd be meeting at 7:30." Seeing as it was already a quarter to six they were going to be cutting it close. "Alright then, guess you'd better drive fast. We're going to have to make it there before they do if we're going to get the drop on him."

And once they had him? Well, they'd strap him down to a chair or lock him in a closet until he agreed that sticking together was the best plan… or she'd let him go while Sam was sleeping just to get him out of her face. Hm, maybe there was a little more work to be done with those pesky bitterness issues, eh? Best not to mention it to Sam until whatever happened of all this was done and over with or it might just screw up her chances of being Dean free if that's what it came down to.

For now she was going to settle for laying as comfortably as was possible in a bucket seat with broken ribs. Back reclined as far as it would go she tried to ignore the throbbing of her bruises and how annoyingly lumpy the pillow she'd stolen from room service in that last hotel really was. _Hardly worth the trouble if it's not any kind of comfortable._ At least the blanket she'd tucked around herself was warm and soft. Maybe she'd get some half decent sleep between here and there. Maybe that would give her what she needed to face the parts of herself she didn't want to admit to when they saw Dean again. Oh, who did she think she was kidding anyway? Nothing was going to make _that_ easier. When did Cal O'Sulivan ever do anything easy? Never. Right about then she wished that somewhere, someone might be willing to cut her a break and make an exception. She'd come a long way but it still didn't feel nearly far enough to make this okay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Cops and Indians, Cowboys and Robbers or Whatever._

A thought occurred to Dean somewhere in the sleepless abyss of a night this had shaped up to be. Sam was behind this John Wayne cowboy dude showing up in his room in the middle of the night. Chances were the fake-ass Duke had already called Sam to let him know where his brother was. Friend of their father's or not, chances were this breakfast in the morning was some kind of a set up. Dean's extremes when it came to caution in order to save his own hide kicked in hard and heavy. No way he was going to let this guy walk him into some situation he wasn't expecting.

What did he know about the guy, really? Sure, he'd dropped some pretty important names. Did that mean he'd actually talked with Sam or Bobby? Maybe, maybe not. Was it worth sticking around to find out? Not if it meant compromising the distance he'd been careful to maintain, the protective barrier of time and space he'd stacked between him and the life he'd loved once.

Dean Winchester wasn't some chump kid just starting the game. He'd been in it too long to let himself be strung along by sentimentality. It was that deeply ingrained survival instinct that had him sneaking off in the middle of the night. And if the Duke heard him leave he never showed sign of it, never bothered trying to stop him or follow. As for the job he wouldn't get to see through to the end, well Dean figured he could shoot off another anonymous e-mail to Sam or Bobby from some random internet café. He wasn't the only one capable of this stuff. Someone else could pick up the slack this one time, hell, the Duke was in town, wasn't he? Let _him_ deal with it. _Yeah, 'cause that makes leaving a job unfinished sit so much easier. _Well that was life on the run for you. Unpredictable and completely unfulfilling.

* * *

When Sam and Cal made it to the diner with a few minutes to spare there was no Impala in the parking lot. At first they thought Dean had parked her somewhere. Maybe he'd taken to driving a different car to blend in a little better. Whatever the case there was no sign of him, if he was already there. There were worry lines firmly drawn across Sam's forehead but he wasn't going to give in to them. John Wayne would have called if there had been a change of plan. Dean would be there. Of course he would.

Cal was snoring lightly, snug and warm under the blanket he kept readjusting around her. The woman was just as restless in sleep as she was in every other part of life, tossing and turning as if trying to physically be a part of her dreams. She'd settled about ten minutes out of Potlatch. At first he'd thought she was awake, at least he had until that first rumbling snore. As if the closer she got to where Dean was, the more she felt at peace. He knew the feeling. It had been too long.

"Cal?" He rubbed her shoulder gently, trying hard not to hurt anything that was damaged. Not all that easy to do, after yesterday she was a walking bruise from the neck down. A groggy moan, a flutter of eyelids and she was back to breathing ever so softly. "Wake up Cal. We're here." Purple rimmed wide eyes startled open and suddenly Cal was right there with him in the land of the living. "How about some breakfast?" She'd fallen asleep before he'd been able to stop for coffee. It was way past time for whatever pain meds she'd allow him to give her. A little breakfast couldn't hurt. "Any sign of him?" She sighed out sleepily. "No sign of the car, but that doesn't mean much. Maybe we'll find him inside."

Even half asleep Cal was pretty sure Winchester had already given them the slip. Call it woman's intuition. Far be it for her to take away what little hope the man next to her might have at finally having a face to face with his brother. If he wanted to hope, after everything they'd been through over the last eight months she was going to let him. "He's probably nursing a pot of coffee, busy slurping down some greasy bacon and eggs. Won't even see us coming." Okay, so they could both see the lie. It was well intentioned though so it was left to pass.

"Come on, let's get some caffeine in you. You're much more believable when you're all there." The friendly tease was met with a rebellious tongue thrust out in mock annoyance. But she did smile as she peeled off the blanket and gingerly tossed it and the pillow into the backseat. All it took was the slightest sign of a wince and Sam was opening the door for her. No way to climb out on her own, what with his massive arm waiting for her to take it. As much as she hated not being completely self reliant, there was some comfort in knowing Sam had her back. He would have walked her right in the diner like that, doing his best to be the thing to keep her standing upright if she let him but Cal shook him off as soon as her feet were solidly beneath her. A girl had her pride to maintain, after all.

"Booth?" Sam tossed back the question over the sound of the bell jingling above the door. "Yeah. I don't think my ribs can take a backless stool just yet." The way he was able to hold the door open for her after going first always made her feel like a big child, probably because she didn't even have to crouch to duck under his arm and pass through. Her dad used to do just the same for her when she'd been a little girl. Today she was grateful for it, though. Never one to go halfway, the slight pressure on her chest from the night before had become so much more than unbearable.

After spending nearly an entire year sharing hotel rooms and personal space in whatever car they had that week their tells had become transparent. Sam knew. Maybe he'd seen the wrinkle of her nose or noticed the way she'd gripped the seatbelt for dear life as while undoing it. There was just no hiding from him that she wasn't as invincible as she liked the world to believe. That was why no offense was taken when the pain meds were mentioned. Sam didn't mean anything by it, he just wanted to know she was okay.

"You know, you're overdue for some pills if it's hurting." He might as well have been commenting on the weather instead of reacting to her grimace as she gingerly slid across the seat. "Not yet Sam." They both knew the second any kind of medication made it past her lips she'd be out for another couple of hours. If they were going to get the drop on Dean, Cal had to be conscious.

"Right. Coffee it is then." The waitress by the cash register nodded, she'd heard them. Sending them a quick wave as if to say _pick a table, any table _she bent to the task of preparing their caffeine.

They were on their first few sips of coffee when the bell above the door jingled again, letting everyone in the place know there was a new arrival. Sam couldn't help the smile when Cal got a look at the guy. It had been a long time since anyone had surprised her enough to leave her dribbling coffee down her chin. Last count had been Dean. No, wait, there had been that rocker dude at that bar in New York. Luke? Last name was something like a rifle, kind of like Winchester. There'd been a lot of joking around that maybe Cal had a rifle kink she hid really well. Hard to forget the guy. Point was, this was the sort of moment that didn't come around that often.

This guy wasn't wearing a feather boa, a guitar or sparkles like Luke had been though. She'd got her first glimpse of John Wayne and he was making one hell of an impression. The guy was huge. Bigger than Sam and built so wide that he could have doubled as _a wall_. He had long shaggy hair tucked into a tail that reached past a pair of massive shoulders and was covered by a cowboy hat so big it could've been in the running for a Guinness World Record. Not the traditional Stetson either, no this was a dark snakeskin number or something. Matching cowboy boots too, complete with the clicking of spurs as pointy toed feet strode purposefully across the tacky linoleum floor.

Sam had to reach across the table with a napkin to snap Cal out of it, saucer wide eyes just taking the guy in as he approached their table. He smiled at her, toothy and slick, as he stopped next to her. "Winchester?" he somehow directed at Sam while keeping his attention on Cal who was cleaning herself up mutely. "Uh, yeah." The Cowboy didn't even try to hide the smile. "Thought so. Look like your dad, if you don't mind my saying it. Mind if I sit?" Cal still hadn't said a word, but she did look a little relieved when the stranger took a seat next to Sam.

"I think I scared your brother off. He cleared out his motel room and took off middle of the night last night." Sam's face fell then. It felt worse than when they'd been searching for their dad, only to find out they were just a little too late every time they got close. "Oh, no worries kid. I followed him. He'll be shacked up for the day, resting up. I'll finish the job he left behind tonight and catch up with him again in the morning."

"Don't rush on our account, Wyatt Earp. Not all of us are as eager to catch up with the guy as Sam is." Ah, so the lady _did_ have a voice after all. John Wayne eyed her up thoughtfully, appreciating what he saw even as he measured her up. "From the sounds of things, I'd say you were speaking as a lover spurned. If you don't mind my sayin' the guy's a fool to have turned his nose at a catch like you." Cal's snort was the picture of unladylike. "No, the guy's an _idiot_ and he doesn't deserve to set eyes on me again is what he is." The throaty chuckle was deep, rich and rough. The sound slid through her mind and down her spine causing what would have been delightful little shivers if her ribs didn't feel as if they were trying to squeeze her to death from the inside out. "I'm John Wayne, nice to meet you." And instead of reaching out a hand, he took the half empty coffee pot from the middle of the table and topped her up. "Thanks. I'm Cal." The name made him smile again.

"O'Sulivan, right? You reputation precedes you, though I bet you get that a lot. It's the hell of a reputation." The compliment made her blush, which was a bit of a shocker from Sam's point of view, if happened so infrequently. "Well, thanks, I guess." Alright, it was time to break up the lovefest for Cal's reputation. There were more important things to talk about after all.

"So, Dean?" He prompted quickly, steering John Wayne back toward the reason behind their meeting. "Yeah. Got the drop on him last night. Don't know where his head's at but he's not trying too hard to keep his own ass safe. Breaking in and surprising him was so easy it was almost insulting. No booby traps to the room, not even the standard salt lines." And now not only was Sam disappointed but the worry lines were back, etched deeply all over his forehead and in the crease of his cheeks bracketing his mouth.

"Look, he's a wily little bugger. I'll give him that. Why don't you let me tail him a little while. See if I can't suss out what his plan is to get out of trouble with the law. When I get a better fix on things I think you guys ought to be the ones to approach him." He left his suspicions unspoken, because Sam was already well on his way to understanding that Dean had begun to give up.

Watching his breakfast mates carefully, it wasn't hard to pick up on the wordless conversation that passed between them. A questioning look passed from Sam to Cal. _You okay with going along with the guy? _Cal's slight, stiff little nod. _Whatever you need, I'm there._ Because when they first set out the understanding was that they were in this together. She had Sam's back no matter what, but he was in the driver's seat for this one. A nod as he made up his mind and then another look, pointed and full of meaning this time, aimed at her chest. Cal shrugged gingerly and suddenly there was a prescription bottle sitting next to her coffee.

"Bruised ribs, huh? Now that's a pain in the ass. Can't be too comfortable riding in that little car of yours." There was a sympathy there that spoke of experience borne. Cal just ignored him though, well past the point of endurance and just trying to get from that moment to being able to lie down in the car again. She couldn't even absorb what the men were discussing as they ate their meals. Sam badgered her into downing some scrambled eggs and hash browns, mostly because she was becoming too tired to argue. By the time their waitress showed up with the check Cal was dozing, propped up against the diner window at her side.

"Poor thing's wiped out. What's she even doing on the road, anyway?" John Wayne looked appalled that Sam would have let her come along in the shape she was in. "Look, word to the wise: you don't tell Cal what to do and you don't 'let' her do anything either. She'll take you down a peg, literally." John looked a little skeptical, but he'd heard the hype before and he was familiar with the name. "She's supposed to be some kind of big deal. I gotta say, I see where they got the bit about her being quite the looker. Not so sure about that spunk though." Sam actually laughed at that. Lucky thing Cal wasn't awake to have heard John talking about her. "Between you and me? She'll be really embarrassed when she comes to. The ribs just happened last night. It's the pain meds, they get her every time, knock her out cold for the first couple of days. She hates it."

John just shrugged and grabbed up the bill. A quick look over at Cal and he handed the piece of paper to Sam. "You get this. I'll carry her out." Now, normally Sam would've turned the guy down flat. They were a team and when Cal was injured or incapable of getting by on her own two feet, he was responsible for her. But there was something about the way John Wayne looked at her, like there was a history there Sam wasn't privy to. Not quite paternal but close to it. He wasn't sure it was necessary to object. Reading the hesitation John filled in the blanks, if cryptically. "You could say I'm a friend of the family. Knew her dad and granpop back in the day. Met her once when she was little, too, though she won't remember it." Okay. So he was probably safe to let the guy carry Cal out to the car, but Sam already had a mental list of questions for John to start answering the second they'd settled in at the hotel. 'Friend of the family' in this case held a bit of an ominous undertone that Sam didn't like.

"Sure, but uh, she's riding with me. She's been known to try to cripple a guy for taking her off guard. Wouldn't want to be responsible for that." Especially since she'd insisted on wearing the boots she was famous for. The ones in which she sheathed her favorite knives that could cut through just about anything like it was butter. "That was always the plan, Sam." Cal was already in his arms and he was headed for the doors. Still fighting that uneasy feeling, Sam opted to drop whatever bills amounted to more than the total was and run after them. There was now yet another thing to add to that 'to-do' list. Call Bobby and find out a little more about this John Wayne guy who was so good at getting results and what exactly he meant by 'friend of the family'.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Sometimes Hauntings Aren't as Easy as a Salt and Burn._

Cal was breathing heavy, her chest hurt and the walls were closing in on her. No, wait. They were just really close all around her and it was _dark_. Where the hell was she? Fear pounded like a heartbeat in her ears, drowning out the screams she just knew were going on somewhere nearby. Face pressed up against the skinny, sharp little slats before her she could see horrible things on a large screen. Only she couldn't really _see _them. She just knew instinctively that whatever it was she could see was terrible, horrifying in a way she'd only ever imagined.

The slats were oddly familiar. A ventilation duct, maybe? If that was the case then it wouldn't be a big deal to kick off the grate and climb out. Her ribs hurt so bad it would be a relief to get a little space to stretch out. So she twisted her way around and shoved her feet at the metal façade, and hard. A quick _pop_ and some loud clanging as the now bent and twisted cover flew across the room only to disappear when it reached a point beyond her line of sight.

Instead of relief when she climbed out there was only more shock, fear to add atop the fear she already felt in the shaft. Now the images were clear. Not only were they clear but they weren't just images on some screen anymore. They were real live events happening just across the room from where she crouched.

Sticky. Oh god, her feet were sticking to the floor. Not glued like in some strange dream, no she was having trouble moving because the floor was covered in some thick liquid that was drying and tacky. The soled of her shoes were covered in a rusty brown colored muck that threatened to keep her feet rooted to the floor with every step. _Blood. Ew. God, but who does it belong to? What fresh hell have I just climbed out into?_

She was Alice, only instead of a looking glass it was a ventilation duct leading out to the little shop of horrors in the shape of a small- town holding cell. Her father was there, fighting a vampire, trying to save the life of a man. _Dad's kicking as! _Sparing a moment to watch she saw he was holding his own just fine as usual. Three bloodsuckers dead already; body parts strewn all around him as another approached cautiously. He kept the leech before him, a man tied to a chair to his back. This was the man he was trying to save. At first glance the man was clean shaven, though she couldn't see his eyes. Half his face was covered by a huge, dark cowboy hat. She'd seen it somewhere before but couldn't quite place it. Then after she blinked he wasn't wearing a hat at all, although you still couldn't see most of his face behind all that shaggy mop of hair and beard. He was familiar, safe and dangerous all at the same time.

Her dad had changed when she looked back at him too. He wasn't Jacob O'Sulivan but Dean Winchester lobbing the head off a vampire in the copse of trees behind the farmhouse. Hm, wow. Freudian much? The man in the chair was free now. She had just finished sawing through the bindings around his wrists, but he was too weak to move on his own and there was another vampire approaching far too quickly. The scent of all the blood on the ground was driving it into a feeding frenzy, like some sort of shark with legs charging toward the nearest thing with a beating heart.

_I'm too little for this. No way I'm strong enough to chop that thing's head off. It'll bite my arm right off while I try. _Doubt and fear crept past her defenses but she stood her ground, knives in hand. Even that felt different though, _wrong_ somehow. Looking down it was clear why, instead of the katana-like blades she usually kept sheathed in her boots for emergencies there was a much smaller boning knife with a sad, thin little blade to it. _And what am I supposed to do with this exactly?_

Looking back up at the vampire, who was nearly on her now, she just knew this was it: the final battle between her and the monsters that had stolen her mother's life. "Bring it on you pointy toothed freak of nature." A hoarse cry as it bore down on her.

"Cal. Hey, _Cal_!" Sam's voice broke through the madness of what was happening around her. Turning to see what was wrong, why he was calling her name on the cusp of such an important battle, she opened her eyes and saw…

The tacky flowered wallpaper of a dingy motel room wall. What?

"Cal, wake up! You're screaming yourself hoarse again." Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her wrists on either side of her head to keep her still. "Sam? What the hell's happening? There were these vampires and Dad. He's gonna need my help…" But, if Sam was here with her then her father was still dead. That's when it hit her like a big brick wall. "Frigging nightmares. Great." It had to be the meds. Every damned time. Sam loosed his grip so she could sit up, now that he knew she was awake. She must have been thrashing around pretty hard for him to have felt the need to hold her still. Her ribs were thanking him for it, but they weren't liking _her _much.

"Yeah. You were talking in your sleep too. You were yelling for your Dad and Uncle Mal when we came in." Funny, she didn't have any uncles. Not any live ones anyway. Too much scifi before drifting off maybe? The last thing she remembered was settling in to watch a Firefly rerun just before Sam left to join John Wayne to finish the salt and burn Dean had left without finishing.

"We could hear you screaming all the way across the lot." A voice as deep as the Grand Canyon and rich as any chocolate she'd ever tasted spoke from somewhere above Sam. She'd heard it somewhere recently. Not just at the diner earlier, but in the dream she'd just had. Hard to say what the connection might be, considering how foggy her thoughts still were, but it sure was worth a moment of consideration.

"I don't know what it is about antibiotics and pain pills but it never fails, whenever I take either I get stuck with the most vivid nightmares." Sam had witnessed the phenomenon a time or two, when they'd first met and over the past year on the road. It was news to the new guy though, and Cal was willing to bet he wasn't thinking much about her tough hunter chick rep after watching her fall asleep at the diner and now _this_. "I need a minute." A request to Sam, directed at the Lone Ranger as a command. The message was clear: _get the hell out of the room so I can collect myself here_.

John Wayne had the gall to toss her a knowing smile, like he'd seen this before. Cal was seeing red, and it wasn't just leftover imagery in her mind's eye from that dream she'd just had. Still, he moved toward the door, intent on giving her what she'd demanded. Sam was close on her heels when she spoke his name. "Sam?" But what she really meant was _please stay. _The dream might just have been conjured by her subconscious but it had here wondering. John Wayne wasn't who he said he was, they already knew that much. Now she'd worried that they might have met before, in her distant past. Why else would his face turn up in a twisted dream about the night she'd killed her first vampire?

"You okay?" Worry lines only accentuated by the five o'clock shadow of new growth on his face. Sam looked like he was about thirty seconds away from tossing her in the car and taking her back to the hospital. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He heard her hesitation because she was still stuck in her own thoughts about John Wayne. "Except?" And he called her on it. "Except I think I've met the cowboy before. I can't remember when or how and that's giving me the heebie-jeebies." He gave her a quick once-over, looking at her like he was trying to figure out what on earth it was she'd been dreaming just now. But he believed her. "You trust him?" he asked her, the unspoken understanding being that they'd leave him behind if she didn't. "I dunno. I mean, he is the only guy that's managed to get three feet from Dean in months, right? We'd be crazy to ditch him." She hesitated. Was finding Dean more important than listening to her survival instinct? "Okay. So we'll just be extra careful with the guy. Play our cards close to the chest. Try not to let on that we don't trust him until we find Dean." Reasonable, right? "Okay." It was as good a plan as any.

Cal was still fighting off imagery of her father in the middle of all those vampires. That terrifying moment when she realized how inadequately prepared she'd been for that vampire four times her size. Dream or not, some of those things had actually happened. Her only consolation was that she'd actually managed to take the vampire's head. There was something on her cheek, and she lifted a hand to brush it away thinking it was a stray hair or something. When she touched it though her fingers came back wet. "Hey," warm, sympathetic eyes held hers. Sam's voice soft enough to soothe a child. "It's okay, Cal. We'll figure this out and we'll be okay." Unfortunately she wasn't sure he was right this time.

* * *

Dean Winchester was a haunted man. That's right _haunted_, not hunted, though he was certainly that too. Ever since that John Wayne wannabe had surprised him in his own motel room the spirit of all the things he'd left behind had begun following him wherever he went. They were everywhere, waving their arms at him from every shadow just waiting to catch his eye. All he had to do was look a little closer, but when he did they were always gone.

There was the ghost of Sam, the one that sat just barely out of sight on the passenger seat next to him as he drove. The one whose voice made wisecracks about cartoon porn and Dean's juvenile nature and whose very presence used be enough to make Dean believe everything was going to be okay. That ghost was easy enough to handle. He was old news, having sat shotgun in the Impala once before. This was the same ghost who had hung around while the real Sam had been off at Stanford and who had helped him make the decision to sell his soul to that crossroads demon to bring the real Sam back from the dead.

There was the echo of Jason's voice in every child he happened to pass. Maggie was every sixteen year old girl giving her parents attitude. Playgrounds and shopping malls were the worst for conjuring those two up because there were always laughing chattering kids around. He couldn't escape it, could barely tolerate the itchy feeling he got just under his skin. The one that made him want to get in the car and drive North and let the Feds be damned.

Fran was every bartender in every bar he happened to enter. That was a bit of a pain in the ass at first considering the sheer amount of time he spent in bars. They were his best meal ticket, after all. Even she became manageable after a he'd had a couple. Numbness would set in and she would just sort of drift away into the background and become part of the scenery. Of course that led to other problems, like when the hellcat would show her face instead.

_She _was the real problem. _She_ was the ghost Dean wished he could exorcise and be done with. Cal _effing_ SheRa self proclaimed Princess of Power, who didn't back down or ever take no for an answer. The woman wasn't even in the same country as he was anymore and somehow she still managed to torture him incessantly. She was the nagging voice in the back of his head teasing him about his 'retro' eighties music and reminding him that he was slacking off on the job. She was the imagined warmth to the sheets on the other side of the bed when Dean was half dead in the early hours of the morning. Worst of all she was the comforting sound of slow steady breathing not his own before he even opened his eyes in the morning. Her big blue eyes glared challenge at him from the backseat in the rearview whenever the Impala pulled into the lot of… anywhere.

He couldn't think of her without remembering the look in those pretty baby blues during those final few minutes. "_You want to end this and leave, just put me down and walk away if that's what you really want. I won't stop you." _ It _wasn't_ what he'd wanted, goddamnit, not by a long shot and she'd known it. She'd known it but she let him go anyway because it was the right thing to do. It was the only way to keep her out of trouble. Not her usual brand of trouble but the kind that ended you up in a tiny room with no windows and just the one door, sitting in an uncomfortable chair at a metal table being questioned by Bad Cop and Worse Cop. They'd make a media farce out of her so that she wouldn't ever be able to manage anonymous again. She deserved better, had worked too damned hard to build what she had going for her just to have the guy who loved her tear it all apart. That's what he kept telling himself. That's was what was supposed to get him through those long nights when all he had in his head were those piercing blue eyes brimming with tears she'd been too proud to let fall.

So why did it still feel all kinds of wrong? Why did he still feel like nothing would ever be right again? The answer wasn't something he wanted to examine too closely. If he did there was a really good chance that he wouldn't like what he found.

Dean dealt the way Winchesters were raised to. Immersing himself in whatever work he could get his hands on while waiting for the inevitable to happen. Still looking for that answer to all his prayers but forced by reality to realize that the answer probably wasn't out there, and if it was it would probably come at a price higher than he was willing or able to pay. He'd lost the girl. He'd lost what semblance of family life that had been made possible for him. Now, it was pretty safe to say, he would probably grow old in prison for doing what had to be done to save lives. What Cal and Sam had bought him with that jailbreak (other than another ten years over the three life sentences he was probably already facing) was a reprieve.

He was going to use that time to make good. The people he loved were going to be as safe as he could possibly make them. He was going to sever whatever ties were left to link them to him and while he was doing that he was going to take every case that came his way. Somewhere deep and dark within in a place he didn't dare to acknowledge in case it decided to take over entirely, he hoped that maybe luck would be with him. Maybe he could avoid prison entirely the only certain way available. Maybe he wouldn't live through the next job or the one after it, or the one after that. Thoughts like that didn't make him sloppy, per say, but they sure didn't help him remember the salt lines and sigils at the end of the night either.

He'd figured the hurt would start to fade a little after that as a new pace set itself to this new version of what life was going to be. Maybe once that had happened that deep dark place would get a little lighter, a little less vocal. Experience had taught him that he could count on senses dulling themselves to the more acute pain because a dull ache was easier to deal with. Unfortunately that wasn't the case this time. He just missed them all _so damned much_!

_Oh yeah? And whose fault is that, ya big caveman? _"I know SheRa." He mumbled into the pillow, one hand stretched across the other side of the bed where she would have been. "It's all on me." Just then, as he drifted off to join her in his dreams he stopped caring that he was being tracked by the big ass cowboy military guy from hell. All that mattered was the ghost of _her_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Back to Old Habits, O'Sulivan style._

Well, at least there was proof that Dean was still using his head. The 'protect the innocent' part of it anyway, even if the survival instinct had gone a little awry. He'd taken a minute to e-mail both Bobby and Sam with the details of the hunt he'd skipped out on asking them to take over where he'd left off. It was very John Winchester of him.

So now Sam and the _other_ John were pouring over the research doing their damnedest to keep Cal in the dark about the whole thing. Medicating her when they could and doing the work when they thought she was sleeping. Their very male way of reasoning this out? Maybe if they kept her out of the loop she'd rest up and get better. This was definitely not Cal's way of doing things. They might as well have issued a full on challenge. Now she _had_ to sneak around and throw herself into the hunt, if only to prove her prowess to the guys. It had been awhile since she'd felt the need to assert herself but there you had it.

So when the boys announced that they were heading out to pick up some take out for supper Cal made her move. Two minutes with Sam's computer told her where the body was buried. Given that it was the middle of the night she figured clothing wasn't really a big deal. The pajamas she had on would do just as well as anything else she could have put on. Who knew how long the guys would take? For all she knew they'd be back again any time now. Cal had to move, and she had to do it _now._

It wasn't easy. Her ribs protested every step she took as vocally as they could, but she did manage to get her shoes on and out to the parking lot. Unfortunately Sam had thought ahead and took her car, the one they'd been doing all of their travelling in of late. That left the beat up old pick up with the weathered cab that John Wayne lived in. Okay. So it would handle a little differently on the road. Not a big deal. She just needed to get to the gravesite and back. Five minutes either way. Maybe another thirty to dig up the grave… _Oh crap._ She'd forgotten about the grave digging. That was going to hurt.

Chancing a glace through the grimy window into the bed of the truck she hoped to find what she'd need to get it done. Sure enough, the first thing on top of the pile of stuff back there was a shovel. It was caked over with dirt and dried mud, but that was no surprise considering what it was primarily used for.

Not as nimble as usual, breaking into the truck was a little harder than she'd expected too. Still, a girl had to motor on right? Likewise the hotwiring. By the time Cal got the damned thing started and took to the road she was tired enough to want to just crawl back into bed and forget the whole thing. Still there was no doubt in her mind that she'd be able to get the job done.

The cemetery had this 'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil' feel to it. Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe it was the fatigue and the dark, but she did not like the feeling of being watched. Like there were things lurking in the bushes just out of sight, waiting for their chance to have a go at her. _Sooner you get it done, sooner you can get back to the motel and some shut eye. _In the spirit of that last particular thought, Cal figured it would be okay to borrow the hydraulic excavating machine from the utility shed onsite. Save herself a little pain and effort. Save some time. Less chance of getting caught out by the guys.

While digging through the rubble that John Wayne called his earthly possessions Cal came to one conclusion about the guy. He was a slob. The bag of rock salt had been left open, half its contents spilled out and coating the base of the truck bed. The lighter fluid was nowhere to be found. Matches and disposable lighters were strewn haphazardly among books and tools. There was even a bag of dirty laundry that looked about thirty seconds away from growing itself a set of legs and walking over to the nearest Laundromat.

_Alright then, a couple of Bic lighters, what's left of the bag of salt and maybe the shovel to break open the casket. Good to go, right? _Trekking ahead she didn't even stop to consider why it was she still felt as if something was missing. Not until a few minutes later, anyway, when the metal bucket scraped at the veneered lid of the casket and the ghost decided to make an appearance.

Reaching behind her for the pistol she normally kept in a holster at the small of her back she grappled at bare skin. No need for a gun when you're in your pj's, right? Wrong. And now she was toast. Meanwhile, the dreadlocked Queen of the Night in all her gory, transparent glory was bearing down on Cal intent on doing some damage. "Ugh, girl, you are _such _an _idiot!_" Somebody had to chastise her for this. No one else was around to do it. _And whose fault is that, eh?_ Yeah. Hers.

With nothing left to do but hold on to the crawler for dear life, Cal waited for the ghost to get tired of tossing it around like a toddler with a hot wheels car. She'd been wedged upside down, excavator and all, into the freshly dug-up grave when the first shot rang in her ears.

"_Cal!_" Sam's voice, hoarse and breathless, over the shrieking of the spirit. "You okay under there?" And she would have liked to have answered him with a yes. She'd have liked to have been given the chance to say anything at all. But the ghost wasn't ready to give up her toy yet. Before Cal could truly understand what was happening, the whole kit and caboodle was soaring through the air sideways. Cal still strapped into the machine. The ghost had apparently decided that the best way to dispose of the new arrival was by chucking its favorite toy at him.

Sam dropped to the ground and rolled away just in time to avoid the brunt of the impact. Another shot tore through the night and this time hit home. The apparition dissipated just long enough for John Wayne to grab up the bag of rock salt and the lighters Cal had dropped in the struggle to stay in the excavator.

Winded, Cal could only watch from the mangled wreck as the dark shape above the open grave came alive in the light of the tiny flame. The light caught the brim of the unorthodox cowboy hat and flared as it hit its target. Not a moment too soon either because the wailing, crazy spirit had reappeared above Cal, reaching out to end her life before the flames sent it to the final hereafter.

Sam crawled over to her on all fours, because it was the only way to reach through the twisted metal and touch her. His fingers latched on to the first pulse point they could reach, just to reassure himself she wasn't dead. "Um, yeah. You could have just asked. I mean, I'm right here looking you in the eye, right?" She was annoyed, but it was more at herself than Sam. "After all that? You're damned lucky you are." She couldn't blame the guy for being angry but she didn't have to like it either.

It took a minute to unfold her from the mess. "Shit, kid, what's not black and blue is white as that ghost was. You gonna live?" The cowboy asked her, a hint of a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. "She'd better, or I'll kill her myself." Sam ground out, taking it upon himself to scoop her up into his arms and haul her back to the car. If you asked her, he was overreacting a bit. She hadn't died or anything. The job was done. Everything had worked out for them in the end. He didn't have to get all upset with her about it.

"My ribs aren't thanking me or anything but there aren't any new injuries save some bruises, so we're good." Despite the reassurance Sam insisted on taking her back to the hospital. "Don't need you collapsing a lung because you're too stubborn to mention that you've cracked a rib rather than just bruising 'em." Later they'd talk about it and Cal would confide in him that it had been the painkillers that had taken away her ability to reason things through. She'd really just wanted to get the job behind them, the sooner to get back on Dean's ass. . "Finding Dean was _not_ worth watching you nearly die, Cal." Yeah, he had a point. But hey, _what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger right?_ Not surprisingly, Sam did not agree.

It scared her to realize, let alone admit to Sam, that finding Winchester was quickly becoming her motivation to get up in the morning. More so that a little pill, prescribed by a doctor, was enough to take away all of her common sense. She didn't touch them again after that. Unfortunately for everyone, the events of that evening were only the beginning of a disturbing trend in Cal's behavior.

"You got to watch that one, Sam." The John Wayne was constantly saying. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree and this one turned out a little more like the tree than anyone expected." The guy got a real kick out of the way she always seemed to have something to prove. Sam was always the first to come to her defense. _She's come a long way in the past year_, he'd say. But all that ever got was a throaty chuckle and some teasing. Was there some truth in what the cowboy said about her? Yes, absolutely. Cal was her father's daughter. Did she deserve to be poked at incessantly about it? She thought not. Then again, maybe it was a karma thing. "Honestly? I think it might just be my brother. He tends to bring out the best and the worst in her." Cal had to admit, Sam was bang on there. She just had to figure out what to do about it.

Not that there was a whole lot of time to do that anymore. John Wayne had better contacts than Bobby, Cal and the Winchesters put together. They were getting leads on Dean every other day and even then they somehow always were a step behind, just barely missing him at every stop. The bugger couldn't have been any smarter about it either. "It's like trailing my dad all over again." Sam's current refrain. Every place Dean was rumored to be held a hunt or another set of dead end leads to follow. Frankly, it was frustrating. Cal was starting to see how the brothers had developed that edge about them. She'd be sporting a 'put up or shut up' vibe too, if this was what her family put her through. Not that she had family to put up with anymore, but you know.

A couple of weeks into their joint effort with John Wayne started they were in Casper, Wyoming hunting Casper himself. Middle of the day their cell phones went insane. First it was Sam's ringtone that woke them up. Whoever it was called twice, three rings, and hung up before Sam was able to pick it up. Cal's went off but she just ignored it as much as she could. To do anything else would have ended in death to the caller or the phone's unfortunate demise. Then, just as everyone thought they'd actually manage to get back to sleep, it was Snakeskin Cowboy's phone to the tune of twangy country music, coming from the adjacent room.

To faux-Duke's credit, it didn't ring long enough to annoy anyone _and _he managed to pick it up in time to catch the caller before they hung up. The baritone of his voice could be heard right through the wall although his words were indistinguishable. John Wayne hadn't even hung up yet, he was pounding on the door separating their rooms. "Rise and shine kids! We got 'im."

Sam was out of bed and through the door so fast Cal could swear there was smoke rising up off the carpet where his feet had (barely) touched down. "Dean?" "Harvelle's." The guys were speaking in single words, this apparently being more important than to waste time on unnecessary vocabulary. "When?" "Now." Sam closed the door and stared at Cal. "So, your brother's visiting with Ellen and Jo?" "Yeah." "You think he'll still be there later?" Sam shrugged. Who knew, right?

"When I spoke to Jo she said he'd just settled in at the back of the bar. He's waiting to talk to Ash. I told them to stall. He'll be drinking himself stupid 'till we get there." Cal had a newfound respect for the Snakeskin Cowboy. Dude had superpowers to be able to follow their conversation through the wall. "You guys got ten minutes to shit, shower and shave then we hit the road." And that was it. Walking orders had been given. They were going to Harvelle's.

Damned if Cal was going to wait around for these guys to get their poop in a group so they could leave. As the water came on for the shower she grabbed a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling a couple of quick words before heading out the door with her bag in hand. They wanted to dawdle over showers like a couple of girls, they'd have to ride together to get to the Roadhouse.

* * *

The Roadhouse was bustling with people when Dean walked in. It was never busy enough for Ellen to miss someone familiar walk through the door, though. Jo was waiting for him with a cold one next to one of the back booths.

"Hey Dean, Ash said to tell you he'd be out in a few."

Dean didn't feel much like talking so he thanked her with a quick nod and sat down. Tonight was definitely one of 'those' nights. The kind where alcohol was needed to dull the ache of missing all the good things he'd given up.

Hours passed while Dean drank as if the beer was water and he a parched man stranded in the desert. Ellen kept sending Jo over with more, as if she knew where his thoughts were taking him. Hell, she'd lost Bill all those years ago so maybe she did get it. Cal was still alive and well but she was as gone to him as Ellen's husband was to her. She looked worried. Cdering the way he'd gone to ground over the past year it was better to just provide Dean with what he wanted than to say anything and have to watch him leave.

Must've been halfway to midnight, somewhere near dinner, when it happened. This chill down his spine that told him someone very familiar had just walked into the bar. He figured Ash had finally decided to grace the place with his M.I.T. trained genius butt. He'd figured wrong.

A quick glance over his shoulder burned the image of a pretty brunette in tall black boots and a jean jacket into his brain. Shit. Since when did Cal even _know_ about the Roadhouse?

Ash did come out of hiding then. Met her at the bar and bought her a drink, smiling at her like they were old friends or something. Maybe they were. Dean didn't know. What he did know was that he wanted to rip Dr. BadAss a new one as the guy leaned in close and whispered something in Cal's ear.

_God _it felt good to see her smile! He didn't need the reminder of how much he really missed the twinkle of mischief in her eye or the way she automatically became the center of everyone's attention when she walked into a room. He didn't know what hurt more: knowing he couldn't go over there and pick up where they'd left off or that she didn't even look his way.

He had to leave. She couldn't know he was there. If the Feds caught up with him then Cal would be considered an accessory just for being there. _Damn. _But it felt good just to watch her from across the crowded room. Just a few minutes more. Long enough to finish this last beer… If he was lucky Ellen, Jo and Ash would keep their mouths shut and she'd never even know how close he was.

Luck flew out the window a half hour later as he was discreetly settling his tab with Jo. The Roadhouse doors swung open again and Sam strode in looking like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

"Jesus _Christ _Cal! Like you couldn't wait ten freaking minutes for me to shower and change?" Holy crap, he hadn't seen Sam that annoyed in ages. His brother was all shaggy hair and dark angry glares.

"Oh _relax_ Sammy. I left you a note, didn't I?" Same old Cal too, she kind of had that effect on people and as usual was completely unfazed by Sam's obvious anger.

"Yeah, _this time_." Oho! Wow, if looks could kill Cal would qualify for something they'd hunt.

"Jeeze, a girl runs out for coffee _one time _without leaving a note and she _never_ hears the end of it." He couldn't help a soft chuckle at that one, having been on the opposite end of similar arguments countless times himself.

"Yeah, except it wasn't for a damned coffee run was it? You snuck out to dig up a grave with bruised ribs and it nearly got you killed. If I hadn't…" Apparently Sam hadn't learned anything from Dean's own experiences. He actually looked shocked when Cal lifted a hand to stop him before cutting him off mid-sentence.

"But you _did _and I'm perfectly fineso drop it." Her tone was final as she handed him a beer in the obvious hope that he'd start drinking it and shut his mouth.

Surprisingly? It actually worked. Sam downed half of it in one go, took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Cal again.

"For the record? 'I got bored' is _not _enough information considering who it was that left the note in the first place, alright SheRa?"

"Meh, so next time I'll add in where I'm going." The woman was completely nonchalant about it.

"Damn right you will." Sam growled, though he couldn't help but smile as Cal beamed brightly at him.

"You know you love me ya big sasquatch." Smile turning into an all out grin as he scowled petulantly at her.

"Yeah right, in all your stubborn, annoying-as-hell glory." Mumbled through another sip of his beer, sounding every bit the pissed off brother.

This wasn't a new argument. Ellen and Ash cracked up while they watched it happen. Apparently the two had been to the Roadhouse together before and had gone through the motions enough for it to be considered an inside joke.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. Time to get out while they were all too distracted to notice him there. Wouldn't be the first time he'd snuck out the back door, probably wouldn't be the last either.

He drove through two states that night to put some distance between him and the past. Questions ran rampant through his mind the entire ride. Disturbing ones like what the hell Sammy was doing using _his _pet name for Cal and why he was at the Roadhouse instead of up north with Fran, Maggie and Jason. Of course, if Dean had stuck around a minute longer to hear the rest of the conversation he would have known better. But he wouldn't find that out until much later.

Meanwhile, seven or eight car lengths behind the Impala there was a beat up old pickup truck following carefully wherever Dean went. The driver hiked the brim of his cowboy hat up just enough to slide his cell phone over his ear before hitting the speed dial.

"Hey Cal. We're on I-80 headed east. Not sure where he's headed but I'll keep you posted. Pretty sure he's just trying to put some distance behind 'im. Guy's driving like the devil himself is giving chase." John Wayne had been waiting outside in his truck for Dean to leave. Cal and Sam were the distraction. They'd played their part well. Now it was up to the Duke to find out where the other Winchester brother was going.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_So This is What it Feels Like to Slowly Lose Your Mind._

Dean was two sheets to the wind and over his head in memories of things he'd left behind long ago. Harvelle's was a couple of days drive behind him and so were the people that mattered the most to him. The drink of the night was whiskey, neat and meant to make him forget all those things that he missed so bad it hurt. He was trying his best to forget but it wasn't working worth a damn.

Every time the bell above the door jingled to announce a new arrival, images of another time flooded his vision. Knee high leather boots, shoulder length auburn hair that in the right light shone with gold and red. The face of an innocent nothing more than a mask, betrayed by a wickedly female smile… _Cal_.

He couldn't regret leaving her, not if it meant she was safe and alive. The memories were killing him, had him wishing that maybe things could've gone differently. There was a sharp stab of loss, an empty space she once filled that was now forever destined to feel empty. Yeah, trust the woman to bring out all the chick flick emo crap in him. God, all he wanted was to forget. Was that so much to ask?

Some nights he entertained the idea of taking a girl back to his motel room and just bury himself in her in a vain attempt to touch some semblance of what he'd left behind. This wasn't one of those nights. The loss was too immediate; the pain too sharp. There was no hope in delusion when he sank this low. Nights like these the only friend he wanted around was his old pal Jack. Yep. Good ole JD. He and Mr. Daniels were going to get real friendly before the night was out.

He lost track of how long it'd been since his arrival. Hours had passed since his first drink, this much he knew for sure, or pretty sure anyway. He was also pretty positive that he'd hit double digits with the drinks. The bottle the bartender had been pouring from had been full at the beginning of the night. It was almost empty now and as far as Dean could tell he was the only one in the place drinking the stuff.

_Huh, not too shabby, Winchester. Bet that O'Sulivan chick can't beat a full bottle of Jack in one night. _Then again, giving what he knew about her it was possible he was selling her short. At least she wasn't around to prove him wrong this time; funny how he didn't find much comfort in that.

Looking up from the amber filled glass in his hand, Dean figured they were probably getting close to closing time. What with the way the bar was starting to clear out and the waitresses being more concerned with cleanup than serving drinks, couldn't be anything else. There were more folks leaving than coming in and the music had died off. A calm hush that was part alcohol and part exhaustion fell over the place as things wound down for the night.

The waitresses slowly cleared their tables and cleaned messes left behind by thoughtless drunk patrons earlier in the evening. The drunks were slowly being ushered out into waiting cabs outside. Dean was expecting someone to usher him out soon too, given the fact that tonight he was one of those drunks and they'd already announced last call. It was a surprise to hear the jingle of the door opening again instead.

There were murmurs of welcome as the new arrival ordered at the bar, though Dean didn't bother to look up from his glass. Whoever it was had to be local because everyone who was still here knew them. He probably wouldn't know who it was but the folks working here did. There was familiarity in the quiet greetings made as the newcomer made her way across the room.

Mind drifting he tried to picture what she'd look like if he cared to lift his head long enough to find out for himself. She had a light walk, though a little heavy on the heel. Probably tall for a woman, but smaller than him for sure or she'd be making a lot more noise.

She'd be slim, he mused, and just a little muscled in all the right places. Probably limber too. Such a shame he wasn't in the mood. He just _loved_ bendy women.

A redhead maybe? Yeah, a fiery little wildcat. Or maybe a soft, curvy blonde whose kisses were as warm and liquid as that first rush of arousal. Anything but a brunette. Dean had sworn off those for good. Still hadn't recovered from the last one. She-who-will-not-be-named. Caitlin O'Sulivan.

He absently listened to the footsteps, mind still knee deep in fantasy and waist high in regret there was no denying existed.

Imagine Dean's surprise when the footsteps stopped right across the table from him. A clean glass half full of sparkling amber slid into the circle of table currently occupying his line of vision, guided by a small and very familiar hand.

"Hey, Winchester. Fancy meeting the likes of you here, eh?" A smoky voice from the past trespassed on his night of sorrow and solitude; the comfort of it nevertheless wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket. He'd known they'd run into each other again sometime, especially after the near miss at Harvelle's. He just hadn't expected it would be so soon.

"What're you doin' here She-Ra?" He slurred at the table top, still not willing to look up and confirm that she was actually there.

"Workin'." If you could speak a shrug it would've sounded just like that. Cal couldn't be any more aloof. For some reason, that really annoyed him. He'd known she wasn't one for dwelling on some guy, but this was ridiculous. Besides, he wasn't just _some guy_. He was Dean-freakin'-Winchester, thank you very much. It was insulting the way she was just moving on like that… even if that's exactly what he'd wanted her to do in the first place.

"Huh. O'course you are." It was probably way too much to hope for that she might be there looking for him. Couldn't hardly blame her for putting him in the rear view though, he had been the one to do the leaving.

"Wrong tense_. _Was. I finished with the salt and burn about an hour ago." The wooden chair legs screeched as she pulled it out and sat down.

"So I take it the old broad really _was_ buried out at that farm on the edge of town?" He'd come across the town ghost story while searching for the werewolf he'd come looking to kill. Having already taken care of that nasty, rabid canine problem he'd planned to dig up the woman's bones before leaving in the morning. Seemed SheRa saved him the trouble by taking care of it. Wasn't the first time she'd beaten him to the punch line. Probably wouldn't be the last either.

"Yeah. I haven't heard a sad story like hers in a long time. She sure as hell wasn't a vengeful spirit. Couldn't have gone a more tragic way either." Cal was strangely reflective about this one and he wondered briefly why that was. Restless spirits were usually attached to some sob story or another. Just another part of the job. Usually SheRa was out looking for a party after a good salt and burn. Had things changed that much with her since they'd last faced each other?

Why was it he still felt the need to offer her comfort, anyway? Shaking it off, he gulped down the last of the whiskey and put on his best 'I don't do chick flick moments' look. "Well, it's over now. Maybe she'll find peace wherever it is she went."

"I'd like to think so." There was a hint of sadness in her voice that surprised him. Hearing it there was just enough to coax him into finally looking at her. Hazel eyes got as far as the small, able fingers circling a glass identical to his before he lost his nerve. The sight of her hands alone, enough to make his breath catch and his heart beat a little faster.

"So… why here?" Because the last time they'd been in the same room together that she'd been aware of he'd broken her heart and she'd tried to break _him._

"Eh?" Walls up, poker face firmly in place she put on that _I could care less _air that was so believable. Even drunk as he was, he knew her better than that.

"This table. _Me_." Suddenly it was essential that he know why. He _needed _her answer like he needed air to breathe.

"Oh, you know me Winchester. I see something interesting, I indulge." So that's what tonight was. An indulgence. A booty call. Well, it wasn't surprising was it? She was renowned for them after all. All over the damned continent.

"Yeah, I know you alright. You sure about this?" There would be no promises this time. No talk of long term. It would only be the one night and he _would _leave as soon as it was light enough to. Cal needed to know that because this thing she was suggesting? It just wasn't going to happen if it meant he'd put tears in those big blue eyes of hers again.

"You're seriously gonna ask me that?" She gawked at him, obviously surprised. Apparently she hadn't expected him to _care_ how she felt come morning.

"Uh huh." Well _what_? He'd left because he loved her; not that he'd tell her that, or anyone else for that matter. It was the only way to maintain her way of life. No way was he going to hurt her without a damned good reason.

"Oh. Well then _yeah_, serious as a heart attack."

"And you want me to…?"

"Look, we haven't seen each other in ages. Regardless of how things ended you've got to admit that we had fun together."

"Yeah. We did, didn't we?"

"It's been awhile, Winchester."

"Don't I know it."

"Ask me to stay then."

"I'm not stickin' around Cal. Come daylight I'm outta here."

"Me neither, got places to be. Just need this tonight." _Need you. _Words unspoken, the ones she really meant that only he could understand.

"You're sure?"

"Indulge me." How the hell was a guy supposed to say no to that?

"I'm-uh- _real _drunk right now. You up for driving?" 'Cause there was nothing sexier than those booted feet pushing the pedal down to the floor and the roar of his baby's engine rumbling right through them both. His hand tracing a path traveled time and again, from the top of her boot right on up to the inside of her thigh and further still.

"We'll walk. Motel's just across the street."

Okay then. At least that explained how she knew where to find him.

There were no more words then. A quiet moment passed as he watched her throat work, swallowing down the contents of her glass. The sight alone was indecent enough to be illegal in thirty different states, though he wasn't sure they arrested folk for that kind of thing anymore.

He woke the next morning in his own motel room bed, not quite sure how he got there, with the ghost of a smile still on his lips. Sliding over on to his stomach toward the opposite side of the bed he took a deep breath looking for the lingering scent of her on the sheets they'd shared.

Instead he got a nose full of cheap laundry detergent and his own stale sweat.

Cracking open an eyelid he took quick stock of the room. There should have been a lamp turned over and in pieces on the floor next to the crap dresser. The chair in the corner ought to have been lying on its side three feet from where it was and the shower curtain should have been ripped right off the rod in the bathroom.

What had happened? Cal wasn't the type to clean up or fix up the morning after. Had they switched rooms sometime during the night?

Slowly he got out of bed and trudged his sorry self over to the window. Maybe her car was still in the parking lot or maybe she figured she'd beat him at the leaving part. Either way, it couldn't hurt to get his bearings.

The bar should have been just across the street, his baby parked right where he could see her. Instead, there was a cemetery. The very same one that was rumored to house the spirit Cal was supposed to have helped along before they'd met up the night before. His Impala was nowhere in sight. _Damn it all to hell!_

There was the smallest chance that the woman had taken his car for a joy ride again. Now that he was awake and more or less sober, though, the night before was starting to come back to him in bits and pieces.

When he'd walked in to the bar, Dean already hadn't slept in days. The werewolf hunt had worn him down to nothing, but he'd been satisfied with a job well done. There was something about the loyalty between the wolf and its mate that had struck home, though, so he'd needed a distraction.

Three or four shots into that bottle of JD Dean overheard some of the local ladies talking about a ghost in town. Hey, it sounded like a distraction to him. So he'd placed a call to the motel nearest the cemetery where the old girl was supposedly buried. No sleep meant he hadn't bothered to get a room anywhere until then. No use in wasting cash on a bed he wasn't going to use. So he'd drown in JD for the night, crash in the room he'd just rented and get started with the fresh investigation case in the morning.

Damned if he hadn't gone ahead and got himself so plastered he'd hallucinated a wild night with the exact person he'd been trying so hard to forget. There was the vaguest hint of a memory of someone ushering him into a cab, though he was pretty sure he'd got himself into the room on his own steam. "_I'm loosing my ever-lovin' mind here_!" He whined into the palms of his hands, back to laying face down on the mattress. Maybe sticking around for this ghost thing was a bad idea. It would take a lot of road to put this one behind him. The sooner he got started, the better.

* * *

Alright, so what do you do when you're pissed off at a guy? You go out and kill something dead in the bloodiest, messiest kind of way. Cal had done it before and it worked like a charm so now she needed a hunt. _Fast_. 'Cause if she didn't get the chance to kill of something supernatural soon in order to work out some of this frustrated anger she's got pent up inside (Damn Dean Winchester and his twisted ways of protecting the people he loves) then _somebody_ would end up dead. Well that's how she got into this whole mess in the first place wasn't it? Dean-_frreaking_-Winchester, of the legendary Winchesters; an icon in and of himself in the hunting community. Son of 'the great John Winchester', brother and protector of Sam, the psychic Winchester. She'd known him to be trouble before even setting eyes on the guy.

Of course, she never figured she'd end up falling in love with the freak. Also, this whole breaking her heart business? Yeah. Never saw that coming either. If someone had told her a year and a half ago that she was going to fall madly in love with a guy only to have her heart broken she would have laughed herself to tears. Then she would have socked the idiot one on principle alone. I mean _really._ Cal was the one who broke hearts, not the one who suffered from them.

Fitting really, this vampire deal that had fallen into their laps while waiting for the Cowboy to call with a location. Whatever it was that she and Dean had between them had begun with the damned things hadn't it? So why not go out and destroy a nest of 'em to work the heartache out of her system? She'd hit the bar scene first, of course. Call it intel, and if she found herself a one-nighter or a bar fight to work it all out in the process than all the better.

Unfortunately the bar was a little swankier than was their norm. Impossible to walk in with knife hilts peeking out of the rim of her boots without getting kicked out. So she was going to have to rely on Sam to protect her if it came down to it.

"Dammit, I hate this! I feel so naked without my boots." And knives, but that went without saying even though she groused moodily about it anyway. Dressing up was fun, but not nearly as fun as it should have been had she been carrying.

"Yeah Cal, that's exactly what it is. Couldn't possibly be the fishnet stockings or that obscenely short schoolgirl-plaid skirt you're not really wearing." God, Sam was starting to sound a little more like Dean all the time. "Nobody likes a smartass Sam." Who was she trying to kid? He was a Winchester. They practically invented sarcasm. The look he gave her was pure Winchester too. She could hear Dean's voice in his eyes. _Yeah, yeah. Whatever floats your boat princess._

Well didn't that just clinch it, right there! To hell with the boots and her knives, she was hitting the bar with all of her womanly wiles and let mankind fall where they may. Nobody told this girl what to wear and got away with it.

So she waltzed into the bar and found herself a jealous, pointy toothed freak instead of a one night stand. It was that first encounter with Earl all over again only she wasn't seventeen this time _and_ she had backup.

The guy wasn't half bad on the eyes for a vampire. He kept her in drinks so at least there was an upside to the supposed wooing process. Dude was obviously trying to get her drunk, hoping to get laid or so she'd thought at first. Hard to say if she'd found their monster until he let his teeth down but Cal wasn't averse to upping the game to get what they needed.

Their suspected vampire quickly found himself in competition for Cal's attention when the bartender started sizing her up. Not surprising that he would like what he saw. Who wouldn't want to ply a half naked woman intent on a little fun with whatever she wanted? That bartender? One hell of an _awesome_ flirt. It was just too bad that when Dean left, he'd taken her poker face with him. Visions of staying past closing time and having her way with Tony-the-bartender right there on the polished wood started playing themselves out in Cal's head. Suddenly the competition could read her mind.

Their vampire didn't open his mouth to object. He didn't snort or huff around about it. He just reached a determined fist over the bar and connected it with Tony's face.

Tony must've been a New Yorker at some point in his life because he didn't even blink. He didn't motion over to the bouncers or put in a call to the cops. Nope, Tony just stuck his tongue into the damaged part of his cheek, testing the tender area for blood, and swung out. Had he been hitting a regular guy the move would have knocked his opponent down to the ground. This wasn't a regular guy though. First sign of hostility and the vampire had his second set of teeth out, ready to feed.

"Sam!" A hoarse cry as Cal jumped the bar and its tender, covering him with her own body as the vampire grabbed for her legs. "Stay down." She ordered her would-be conquest. "You got anything sharp back here?" Tony pointed to a set of tiny paring knives. "Just those, for the lemon." Great. The one night she'd walked into a fight without her knives and now she was stuck with baby sized, garnish-prepping toothpicks. Her backup was supposed to be right by the door, but when she poked her head up above the bar he was nowhere to be seen. "Fine time to be stepping out there _Sam!_" Putting emphasis on the younger Winchester's name, yelling it loud enough to be heard over the screams halfway across the room.

The vampire had some brave fool by the throat, shark-like eyes leveled on Cal. The message in their depths being _you're next. _Okay, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to palm the paring knives after all. "Whatever happens, you stay down here. You hear me? Don't move, don't get seen. If that thing sets eyes on you again he'll go right for the throat and you'll be dead." Tony just nodded, though Cal wasn't so sure he'd listen. He kept eyeing up the shotgun under the cash register to her left. She couldn't worry about him now, though. Not with a rampaging vampire on the loose and Sam gone lord-only-knew-where.

"Hey you, with the teeth!" In one bold move she hiked herself up to standing on the shiny bar top and called the vamp out. "I'm the one you wanted, right? So, what're you waiting for?" It was a very Buffy sort of move, an attention grabbing stunt meant to shift his focus long enough for the folks in the bar to be able to get away. It worked. In less time than it took to blink he had pounced on her, apparently ready to follow through on all the 'courting' he'd been doing throughout the evening. _Aw, isn't that sweet. He's a gentleman. You know, if gentleman were all about groping chicks they want to eat after trying to get them drunk all night. _Cal sure knew how to pick 'em.

It had pushed her up against a wall, right into a corner so he could properly invade her space and prevent a getaway. He had roving hands, bad breath and some kind of kink that involved smelling his prey. She didn't like it. To put the point across she reached up behind him, pretending for all the world to be giving in, and planted one of the paring knives into the soft spot at the base of his skull. "Sorry, Sharp Tooth, I'm not into mouth breathers." She'd hoped to sever his spine or at the very least knick it enough to make it hard for it to move from the neck down. He did drop to the ground, more out of surprise than any real damage. Glaring up at her, it growled ferociously. "You're a _hunter!_" No kidding, Sherlock. How'd you work that one out? "And you're about to be dead." There were three more knives in her hands. Too small to sever the head but she hoped to at least be able to immobilize the thing long enough to get her hands on something bigger from the car.

Unfortunately Tony the bartender had his own ideas as to how this was going to end. "I got this, cupcake." He drawled, pointing the shotgun at the vampire's head as if that was going to help anything. There was no time to educate the ignorant, though, because the vampire lunged again; insulted that anyone thought he could be felled by puny buckshot. A lot of things happened then. First, Tony emptied the contents of his gun into the vamp, which made absolutely no difference except to piss it off some more. Cal shoved Tony aside just in time to catch the brunt of the vampire's body-slamming move. Somewhere, someone shouted her name. It might have been followed by the word 'duck' but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because she was already flat on her back, legs up in the air. The vamp was standing above her, taking a moment to lord the moment of her demise over her. Then it was in two separate parts. His head laying to her left by her shoulder, body sprawled awkwardly to her right.

"What just happened?" She asked no one in particular, staring dumbfounded at the end game of the night's job. "I did." John Wayne was standing off to the side, a wickedly sharp, filthy machete dripping with blood held down at his side. "Where d'you come from? You're supposed to be tailing the Caveman. And where's Sam? He was supposed to be watching my back and he disappeared right when things got messy." She was trying to brush the sticky mess of dirt off the bottom of her skirt, kicking her shoes off at the same time. Wouldn't do to ruin a good pair of sandals in vampire blood. She was rather attached to her shoes. It was the girl in her.

"He's just outside, got a call from Bobby. We got Dean. He's two streets over, out cold at the motel. I got to head out, to do a job so it's on you two now. You up for it?" Uh, no. She was pretty sure she never wanted to see Winchester ever again. Only, it was strangely exciting to think that he was just a few minutes away with no idea that they were nearby. What did that say about her current state of mind?

"Cal. We've got to move. We lose Dean now, there's no telling how long it'll take to find him again." Well yeah, sure. _Let me just hop up and run when you call, there, buddy. _"Sure thing Sam. It's not like I was almost Vampire bait just now or anything. How high would you like me to jump?" But the sass was lost on the closing door. Sam hadn't heard a word past 'sure thing.' John Wayne extended a hand to her, chivalry dialed up a notch to help her out of the mess he'd made saving her life. "I'll get this before I go." Which was good because if Sam was in too much of a hurry to check if she still had all her parts then he certainly didn't have the time to dispose of a body. Monsters notwithstanding. "Thanks. I owe you one." The faux-Duke smiled slick and toothy. "I'll hold you to that, kid." He warned her but she wasn't in the mood to pick a fight.

A quick flirty wink in Tony's direction and she was strutting the soiled schoolgirl skirt out the door like some twisted supermodel. If John Wayne chuckled as she did so, it wasn't worth her time to do anything about it. She had a couple of Winchesters to put in their place. No better time than the present.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Smackdown, O'Sulivan Style_

_or: the one where the Metallicar gets caught in the crossfire._

"Vampire bait, huh?" Sam's first words to her as she stormed out to where he was waiting by the car. "Yeah, you know: _like_ shark bait only far less pleasant." _Nice try Sam._ The guy might've been the more sensitive Winchester but there were very little signs of it just then. No way was a girl going to forget being left in the lurch, _defenseless_ no less, at the mercy of a fang like he had just done. A huff of breath that could have meant any number of things escaped through Sam's nostrils that fogged up to make him look like an angry cartoon bull. Still, he didn't rise to the occasion. Rather he just let the moment pass, choosing to change the subject instead.

"So, that dream you had a while back, before you went off the painkillers for the bruised ribs? Well I might've mentioned it to Bobby." Oh. Was that what the call had been about? Not Dean related or work related but having to do with her own childhood and the connections her subconscious were making between it and 'the new guy'. "Ballsy move, I'll give you that." Credit had to go where it was due, and it really was a ballsy move. He knew what she did to folks who poked around in her past without permission. "I'm going to assume you had my best interests at heart, if only because I've already had my fight for the night." If he'd dared a laugh at that point she'd have socked him for it, but Sam was smarter than that. Sitting on the hood of the car she waited for the words to come.

"We might have a name, a real one, for John Wayne. One that could very well tie him to the dream." O_ho_! This is where things got interesting. "So? Hit me with it already. Maybe it'll ring a bell." Maybe she'd finally be able to shake off the disturbing juxtaposition of the current urban cowboy and the shaggy, bloody victim of her dream that had crazy glued itself to her thoughts. "Malcolm Mackenzie." Slight pause for effect. A quick glance at Cal to see what kind of reaction the name got, and cue the rest of the info. "I know, a mouthful, right? Bobby says he's been around for ages_._"

"I know that name. It pops up all over the place in my grandad's journals." Truth be told, the name popped up all over the family journals in general dating as far back as they'd been kept and then there was the dream. _Uncle Mal, _the half dead guy that neither of them was ready to mention. There was a very strong part of Cal who wanted to march right back into that bar and confront their faux-Duke about his connection to her family. That first part wanted to grill him until he spilled everything Up to and including what his sudden interest in _her _might be. That part of her also wanted to know where the hell he'd been the night her father had been murdered, or better still while the Earl was after her head.

Fortunately there was a much stronger part, call it her survival instinct, that wanted nothing more than to climb into the car and get as far away as possible. The demons they were looking to exorcise were Sam and Deans at the moment, not hers from the past. So, for now, that was the part that won out. So instead of walking back into the bar and dragging John Wayne out by the ponytail to answer questions, she took to the passenger side and waited for Sam to drive over to Dean's motel.

"So, what's the plan for Dean. Are we busting in on him and dragging him off in the night?" Curiosity got the best of her before they'd even pulled out of the lot. "No. I want to see what his plan is first. If we can figure out what he's doing then it'll be easier to catch up with him if he runs again." Sam was sounding more and more like a cop tailing a suspect with every passing day. I was sort of disturbing, actually. "Okay. Makes sense. For the record? Remind me never to do anything to piss you off. Wouldn't want you to come after _me_ the way we're going after _him_.

* * *

It took two weeks for Dean to feel comfortable enough that he wasn't being followed to start slowing down and stepping out longer than just to get food. Two weeks of motel hopping from state to state. He never stayed longer than to shower and sleep. Even at that, if he felt like he was being watched he'd pick up and go, leaving the credit card behind. It was a giant pain in the ass for those who were trying to follow him; but then that was the whole point, wasn't it?

He'd taken to packing nothing more than an overnight bag to take in to the hotel, if he even bothered with that much. Like a condensed version of his usual rucksack only with just the one change of clothes. Not as much need for laundry and cleaning up as before. He hadn't taken a job since John Wayne had taken him by surprise. Often he'd shower, watch a bit of tv, order some takeout and start to feel antsy, like he was being watched. The fastest way to get rid of that feeling? Take to the road again. Sometimes he woke at three in the morning feeling particularly jumpy and took off again. Other days he wouldn't even bother with the motels, preferring to park somewhere secluded and catch a few hours sleep here and there instead of leaving a paper trail in any name at all.

Sam hated it when Dean did that. Though still fairly predictable, it made finding the idiot a whole lot more time consuming. All that time searching left little to no time for sleep before they were off again.

Cal and Sam slept sporadically in shifts. Sam at night and Cal during the day. It made sense because Sam worked best when his favorite resources were open and available (the library, public works agencies, etc.). So did Cal, and she never performed better than at night. Whether it was hitting the bar scene or charming their way to a free room for the night… or the hour depending on how restless Dean was on any given night. Considering how much moving around Dean was doing that meant they slept a whole lot less than he did, which was saying a lot. "Does the man ever sleep more than a couple of hours at a time?" Cal would whine. "I dunno." Was Sam's standard answer, because he didn't anymore. This man they were following was acting so unlike his brother in so many ways. He was beginning to wonder if maybe they were dealing with a shapeshifter.

Cal had never been so frustrated with Dean, and he was plenty frustrating. She couldn't count the amount of times in the months that followed that Sam woke her up; usually just as she was drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep. "Cal, c'mon. He's loading up the Impala. We've gotta move." That exhausted voice as raspy as the day old growth that never seemed to leave Sam's face anymore. She'd moan and groan but minutes later they'd be ensconced in the front seat of the car, heading to parts unknown and praying to God that Dean didn't see them following.

Sam was having a difficult time dealing with the fact that his brother was acting like a stranger. Two weeks in he was exhausted, unkempt and completely befuddled by his brother's actions. When he crawled into bed and left Cal to the darkness and her post watching over Dean, he did so fully clothed expecting to have to get up and go at a moment's notice. Cal waking him at dawn so she could get a shot at some shut eye was such a surprise Sam actually got scared that maybe Dean had figured them out and given them the slip.

"He's in there snoring like a baby Sam." Cal reassured him, barely stopping him from running out the door and across to Dean's motel room window. "I went out there and checked on him myself about two dozen times last night." He'd been snoring, tossing, turning and talking in his sleep; but she didn't mention that. Sam would have felt guilty having slept so well while Dean was so obviously not. She figured the caveman deserved a little of what he was getting and Sam deserved a night's reprieve from babysitting his brother's sorry behind.

Cal, on the other hand, didn't sleep so well. Sam didn't try to get her up until sometime late in the afternoon, so it wasn't quantity that was lacking. It was quality. Every time she closed her eyes her mind would conjure up images from her past that ought to have stayed buried. When she wasn't seeing John Wayne the cowboy morphing into her bearded, beat up and bleeding 'uncle Mal' her subconscious was trying to lip read. Specifically: putting words to Dean's silent ramblings, witnessed through the crack of curtain from the dying shrubbery outside his window. _I'm sorry babe, leaving you was the biggest mistake I've ever made. _Or calling out to his father. Who knew? Maybe her subconscious was right. She didn't want to think too hard about it.

Either way, she didn't feel sorry for him for long. When Sam woke her it was so they could follow his brother to the nearest bar. What they witnessed that night broke Cal's heart and continued to do so until they finally had a plan and all their pieces in place.

So their new routine, the one they followed in the months of planning and chasing between that night and the night they finally approached Dean, was simple enough. They slept when Dean slept. Sam would take the early morning sleep shift (lucky bugger always got the motel room bed). Cal would take the daytime one (Usually on the passenger side of the car while Sam drove). One night she fell asleep in the motel room before Dean left for his usual nightly entertainment. Sam let her sleep and went after Dean alone. He never did tell her exactly what happened, but he didn't take her out to watch Dean as much after that. Didn't take a genius to figure out why, either. Dean wasn't the subtle type.

* * *

It's been months now, too many of them. Months of hunting alone, dodging the feds, late night phone calls to Bobby just to let him know he's still alive. Okay, so not 'just' for that. Part of it was to find out how Cal was doing too. Not that Bobby had much to say on the subject seeing as the damned woman was back on the road, hunting too and generally getting herself into all kinds of trouble. Still, she was safe. Safer than she'd be with him anyway. That made his decision worth it.

The hardest part was late at night. Middle of the night had always been the hardest for him, ever since the fire and… and his mother, and yeah, Jess too. Even thought he hadn't known her it had been yet another failure. Yet another loved one stolen in the dead of night right out from under their noses. Maybe that's why the hunt felt so good. It gave him something to do during that time. It was an excuse to be up and moving instead of sleeping and dreaming terrible dreams. It gave him a reason to forget for a while because if he indulged in thoughts of loss while on the job it could get someone killed. Of course, after that encounter with the cowboy and then the near run-in at Harvelle's the hunt wasn't exactly as available to him as it usually was. Not if he was going to lay low. Apparently things changed sometimes, and not always for the better.

Dean was _Dean_ though and some things never changed. After the third or fourth consecutive night of lying awake, the pillow in his arms a poor substitute for the curvy body that used to lay there; he decided to go out and just forget. Best way to do that? Beer. Whisky. Whatever alcoholic drink he could lay hands on and lots of it. (So much for that promise he'd made himself that last time, huh?)

Right around his sixth shot of JD he started thinking… which incidentally? Not usually a great idea when he was that , he started thinking that the pillow? The one that was waiting for him back at his dingy little double bed motel room? Yeah, he could think of a few slightly better substitutes. Ones that would most likely also provide him with the kind of entertainment that would help him to forget. Though, this time? This time it wasn't flames and a beautiful blonde he needed to push from his mind. This time it was a brunette with blue eyes full of fire and life, an impressive knife collection and one hell of a temper.

So yeah, at this point there were two ways things could've gone.

One: bar fight. Because really? Cal was right. Nothing like a good bar brawl to work out a little frustration. Problem with that was he didn't have anyone to watch his back. As drunk as he was there was no way he'd get out of this hokey, cowboy type joint alive if he started something on his own. The thought of his baby in the parking lot being towed away god-only-knew-where because he'd up and got himself killed was enough to wipe option number one off the slate completely.

_Two_, though; two was a much more pleasant prospect. _Two_ was a pretty little red head with hair that curled _just so._ She didn't look a thing like Cal, which was good since he was trying to forget her right now anyway. It sure looked like she knew how to tango. Hell,it looked like she _wanted _to tango. It had been ages since he'd had anyone other than Cal but he knew. Knew what to look for in a girl, how to tell that she wanted. How to tell _what _she wanted.

Green eyes looked him over appreciatively before she nodded to the bartender. Girl knew what she wanted. Dean had to smile at that. A smile that only grew wider when the bartender hit him with another shot of JD, compliments of his not-so-secret admirer. Good. She knew what she wanted _and_ she wasn't afraid to go out and get it either.

Downing the whisky in one shot he caught her eye. A wink and a nod of thanks and now she was smiling back at him, a full on hundred watt type deal he was sure she used on all of her conquests. Warmed him right down to his toes… or would have… you know, if he could still feel them. That was good too though. Meant the booze were working.

Sucking back another swallow from the bottle of beer in his hand he steeled himself. The past was the past after all. He'd made his choice and there'd be no turning back on that now. Cal would've moved on by now. He was sure of it. Random one-nighters had always been her style, her way of dealing with it, keeping control of her life and getting what she needed all in one shot. The way he figured it? No reason he shouldn't fall back into old habits too.

She was on his arm now. Whispering her name in his ear. Something that sounded like Chris, Christine, Chrissy…or something. Didn't really matter, he just called her 'Red'. She liked it and he wasn't likely to forget it so it was all good. Whatever worked, right?

Wasn't long before they were in his Metallicar, speeding down the interstate as fast as he dared without calling attention to himself, headed toward the motel. She had her hand on his crotch, her fingers splayed across his hard length rubbing ever so slowly up… and down… and back again. They didn't even make it to the room that first time. He barely had the time to park the Impala out front of the motel before she had his fly undone and her mouth was… _oh god_… all over him. Didn't take long for him to come undone either, right there in the front seat of his baby; fingers drifting through Red's soft curls, thanking God for loose women and fast cars.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Bed springs squeaking, loud moaning, gasps and whimpers, sweaty skin and pumping hips. It was every one night stand he'd ever had and then some which was probably why he couldn't remember most of it very clearly come morning. That and the obscene amounts of alcohol he'd drowned himself in the night before. That probably didn't help the whole memory thing much either.

Coming to was a strange experience, stranger than usual even for a one-nighter. Strange because for a second there, just one short suspended moment in time he thought he was right back at the farmhouse. There was a warm body lying on one of his arms, back tucked against his side, and all felt right with the world… until he curled himself around her. The body felt right, but the hair was all wrong and it brought him crashing right back to present reality. It. Hurt. So. Damned. Bad. She wasn't Cal.

Still it was better than waking up alone and feeling like he wanted to shoot the damned pillow next to him just for having the gall not to be _her._ It had worked… sort of and so he knew there would be more nights like these. That's how it started.

Now it was some more months later, could've been years for all the attention he'd been paying to time. Didn't really matter anymore, did it? As long as he stayed under the radar, away from the feds and far away from the people he'd left behind it was all good.

There had been so many women by now that he couldn't remember one from the other. Didn't really care to either. The less he remembered of anything these days the better. Blondes and red heads (he never touched the brunettes) all blurring one into the next. Each one a night of near-peacefulness in an endless string of haunted ones.

Tonight was bad. He'd taken a hunt finally, first one in ages. The poltergeist… he didn't even want to think about it. Damn thing had killed _a kid_ tonight, before he could get close enough to kill it. A boy. All long arms and legs with a shaggy mop of hair; reminded him of Sammy as a kid. Made him think of the niece or nephew he wasn't sure had survived the demon's last attack on the Winchester family. Sam had tried to tell him a few times, what had happened after that night. Dean hadn't wanted to know though. He'd had this crazy idea that if the kid had survived it would be safer for Dean not to know. After all, everybody he ever got close to ended up hurt… or dead.

So yeah, there he was sitting at the bar of the latest dive drowning out the memories in alcohol again. Trying his damndest to shut his friggin' brain right the hell _off_.

Nights like these he didn't pick the girl. Nights like these, when he was this far gone? They picked him. Didn't take long tonight either.

This one was different. Almost familiar, but then these days they all felt that way didn't they? If you've been with one, you've been with 'em all. This one sauntered up to him with a drink and watched him gulp it down. That smile she was wearing was just this side of wolfish and he didn't hate it. Not one little bit.

Usually there was small talk, dirty talk, some kind of talk, any kind of talk really just to get them from point A to that horizontal point B. Not this time. Just a hand in his, tugging him towards the door and implied intentions. Well now, who was he to say no to an offer like that?

They were barely outside and she was molding her body against his in a move that took his breath away. No words, just two hungry mouths devouring each other like the world was coming to an end and their survival depended on getting it on right-the-hell _now_. It felt good, so damned good to feel the blood rush from his brain. Might as well have hung a do not disturb sign 'cause Dean's thought processors were _fried_.

She was snaking a hand under his shirt and guiding one of his toward her bra strap and it looked like maybe this time they wouldn't make it past the parking lot, though maybe making it to the backseat of his car would be a good idea seeing as he wasn't too interested in performing for an audience. Funny how he stopped caring once her hand (the sneaky one that only moments ago had found its way under his shirt) somehow managed to sink itself down past the waist of his jeans.

One second he was moaning out a _he-ll yeah _into the soft, floral scented skin of her neck and the next they were both falling to the ground at the sound of _gunshot._

Goddamn thing took out the Impala's passenger side window too. Somebody was getting hurt for this. _Bad._

The girl, well he was pretty sure she was in shock. Couldn't say he blamed her, really. Getting shot at was never a pleasant kind of experience, even less so when you're not used to it happening on a regular basis. So yeah, mood killer, right there. No way he was getting laid tonight. That was okay though because right now? He had far more important things to worry about, like who _in the hell_ had found him _this time. _Demon maybe? Nah, demonic beings don't usually bother with piddly stuff like guns. Another hunter then, or some Joe he may or may not have pissed off at any one of the bars he'd been in lately? Could be the Feds finally caught up with him again.

Whoever the shooter was he was a brave s.o.b. Dean would give the guy that much. He came right out from behind the car he'd been using as cover and strutted right on over to where Dean and his one night stand were hiding.

"Hey sweetheart, why don't you shake that little booty of yours right on back to the bar over there. Time to find someone else to scratch that itch of yours. Winchester and I have a bit of unfinished business to take care of and I really don't think you want to stick around just to get your ass kicked by association."

To her credit, you didn't have to tell the girl twice. Poor thing was shaking _and_ running away before the shooter had even finished talking.

"You know, it's really not very nice to go around terrorizing innocent women." Dean started conversationally in that infuriating way of his, eyes traveling up shapely calves encased in low-heeled leather boots. _Damn_ but the woman looked good in those. Testament to how drunk he really was, that it didn't freak him out to see them.

"Hate to break it to ya there dude, but _that_ one? Not really the innocent type." She nudged the toe of his boot with her own, a voiceless request for him to get up off the ground.

"You owe me a window for my car She-Ra." A mumbled statement from where he still sat. Hey, he was _comfortable _okay? No way he was going to move for that woman. She wasn't even supposed to _be _there_._

"I owe you a good ass kicking too. Guess which one you're more likely to cash in on first?"

Dean couldn't help the chuckle. Come on, it was _a little_ funny right? Okay, maybe not. He was drunk, though, and everything was a little funny given enough alcohol. Too bad for him Cal was stone cold sober.

"Holy _shit _Cal! You didn't actually _hit him _when you shot at him, did you?"

Oh great! She'd apparently brought a very sober Sam with her too.

"Of course I didn't _hit_ him!" This directed at Sam before she turned her attention back on Dean. "Don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

"Oh come on She-Ra, you wouldn't hurt me." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized how stupid a statement that really was.

Cal was hauling him up by the lapels of his leather jacket and slamming him back against the Impala door as if to prove him wrong. "Wouldn't I? Dude, I _really_ don't think that's a theory you should be testing right now."

This was another one of those dreams he'd been having. Had to be. His subconscious mind playing a sick and twisted joke on him by trying to give him everything he wanted but couldn't have. Well, you know, except the getting his ass kicked part.

"Cal." Sammy's voice of reason again, closer this time. "Toss me his keys would ya? I'll drive him back."

"Nah, I think _I'll_ do the honors. Been waiting a long time to catch up with you Dean." It was a threat and a promise all in one low growl and it left Dean wondering what she meant by it. The way he figured it he was either going to get laid or he was going to get the tar beaten out of him. Hmm, or knowing Cal possibly both. Not necessarily a good thing.

Apparently he wasn't the only one concerned, because Sam was piping up again.

"Look, _you're_ pissed and _he's_ drunk. That's never a good combination. No way I'm leaving the two of you alone. Next thing I know one of you will end up dead. My brother might be a pain in the ass, but I like him breathing okay?"

"_Hey!_" took him a minute, but the implication hit home. Sammy was saying that _he'd_ be the one losing in a fight like that. Not cool man, just So. Not. Cool. "Dude, are you implyin' that I couldn't take 'er? 'Cause seriously, she's _tiny. _Only reason she won all those _other_ fights is 'cause she's a _chick_ an'…" _and_ that was it for the great Dean Winchester right there. He had just enough time to register the '_I don't believe it' _look on Sammy's face before Cal let her fist fly. He felt it hit home and then felt nothing at all.

She was glaring down at Dean, breath coming in short angry huffs as she watched his chest rise and fall. Dude was down and out for the count. Deserved it too after everything he'd said and done, not the least of which had been that last comment. So then why didn't she feel that familiar satisfaction that usually came with a well deserved ass kicking?

"Great. That's just _great_ Cal."

"What? The dude had it coming. You _know_ he did."

"Yeah, except now we have to haul his drunk _unconscious _ass back to the motel." There were sirens in the distance, cops for sure. The girl Dean had been, um, 'with' had probably called them. Huh. "Better make that out of _State._" Because although Sam had definitely been a fan of the 'Shooting Up Dean's Car' plan he wasn't so much a fan of the reaction it had caused. Last thing they needed was for a bunch of cops to recognize Dean and tip off the Feds.

"Hey, _don't_ look at me like that Sam. _He's _the one who ran off in the first place."

Sam had to know that something like this was going to happen eventually. Improvements in anger management aside, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Right? And Cal wouldn't be Cal if she didn't remind Dean that there were consequences to treating a girl the way he had. "Yeah, whatever. Just get in the car." Wise man that he was, Sam would let it go until the dust settled. There was no arguing with Cal when she was like this. "Get driving, I'll be right behind you." And knowing what a wise guy he could be Cal did just what he told her to do.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Band Shirts and Jealous Exes, A Backward W vs O Reprise_

Dean was pretty sure he might still be drunk. Nope…nuh-unh, scratch that 'might be' bit. More like he definitely still _was_ drunk. It was the only logical explanation for the way he was reacting to waking up and Cal still actually being there. Meaning that for once it wasn't a dream and that, yeah, this time she actually _had_ caught up to him… with Sam's help. Sam had been there the night before, right? Yep. Drunk. He had to be, not be angry about any of it.

Clad in nothing but a t-shirt and a short pair of boxers Cal had set to the task of cleaning and sharpening her favorite knives while he slept. She was a vision of everything he'd dreamed of since leaving. Heaven in one of his old band shirts… except that he didn't recognize the one she was wearing. _Hang on a minute. _Had she borrowed one of Sam's? No, no that couldn't be it. Too small.

"Cal, what in the hell are you wearing?" No, Dean had not just used the same tone he reserved for Cal's favorite choice of evening wear. And _no_ that most certainly was _not_ jealousy rearing its ugly head, thank you very much. He knew that he was the last person to be able to lay claim on either. Dean was just curious is all. Yeah, that's it. Nothing but a little healthy curiosity.

"Same thing I wear every night." Unfortunately Cal wasn't exactly being all that receptive to his 'curiosity'. The scowl and the '_what's it to you' _attitude was not lost on him. And yet he couldn't let well enough alone.

"But, that's a guy's shirt." Good job there Dean, stating the obvious in an obvious sort of way. Captain Obvious strikes again. Well done. "Very good Inspector Cousteau." Okay, the Pink Panther joke was totally uncalled for. Would it have killed her to throw him a bone here? All he wanted was a little information.

"It's not mine." Dean didn't recognize the damned thing and it was driving him crazy. _Sure_ he'd been gone a long time but not so long that she'd need to find herself some new shirts, for God's sake! He knew _exactly _how she got the shirts she liked to sleep in and it often involved sleeping with a guy, usually without the actual 'sleeping' part.

"Wow! Yet another accurate observation. You're really on a roll there aren't ya Dean? You gonna try three in a row for the grand prize, or are you gonna leave me alone to finish what I'm doing here?" God he'd missed her; sarcasm, sass and all. He was going to go for three, and then some.

"It's not Sam's either." Because on the odd occasion if they were on the road and she was in desperate need of a load of laundry she'd been known to borrow from Sam. This one definitely didn't belong to his brother, which meant she'd gotten it from someone else… somewhere else… possibly after doing _something _else.

Very suddenly there were images of Cal in some other nameless man's arms. Hangover had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the sudden upheaval he tried to force back down inside himself. Never mind what _he'd _been up to for the last whole lotta months. What the hell had _she _been up to exactly?

"_Don't_ look at me like that. I don't wanna have to hit you again." If looks could kill, she wouldn't need that knife that was now gripped tightly in her fist. Of course that just told Dean that she had something to be defensive about, which only fueled the fire.

"Who is he?" And yeah, okay, he'd admit it. _That_ was jealousy plain and simple and it left him wanting_ to _instill the fear of God into whoever the hell had put their hands on _his_ girl. But that was beside the point. Cal was skirting the issue and Dean wanted _answers._

"Eh?" She was playing clueless. _Not_ a great way to go considering the mood he suddenly found himself in. "You _heard_ me SheRa. _Who is he_?" Maybe raising his voice wasn't the best way to go. His head sure didn't appreciate it, not that his mouth cared at all.

"There is no 'he'." Apparently neither did Cal, seeing as her own voice had just gone up an octave or two. No amount of denial was going to make this situation any better and Dean was damned well going to call her on it. "That shirt had to come from _somewhere_ Cal. Last I checked you weren't into chicks so it _has_ to be a 'he'." The accusation was clear, even if he hadn't actually come straight out and said the words. _You slept around again Cal._ He wasn't an angel in all this or anything, but the thought of Cal _doing stuff_ with someone else just felt all kinds of wrong.

"It's MY shirt Dean. Now quit with the caveman act and leave me the hell alone already." Right down in the depths of her big baby blues, behind that scalding hot anger, was a note of pleading. _Please, you're the one that gave up. Just let it go._ Like it hurt to have to listen to him get upset at her for moving on. He was being an ass. They both knew he'd done exactly what he was accusing her of. But the way he saw it, she was as guilty of giving up as he was. Yeah, suddenly everything was crystal clear in his mind. She was Cal 'don't back down' O'Sulivan after all, and yet she'd decided to sit down to eat barbecue with Bobby and just let him leave. No further ado than that initial freak out. Then she'd gone out and 'got the t-shirt' as they say, probably in all kind of ways. Ways Dean didn't want to think about. Ways Dean couldn't help but imagine. Ways that would haunt his dreams with no less dedication than Cal had all this time. Who the hell did that shirt belong to? Dean was going to _kill_ the guy just for _looking_ at her, never mind anything else they might have done.

"From the size of that thing I'm thinking he couldn't've been very big. What? Was the guy some sort of midget or something? Is that why you're not saying anything?" Poking fun at one of her conquests felt a whole lot better than thinking of her and some random guy (not _him_) doing… _stuff_. He _so_ wasn't going any farther with that thought, either. He'd lost enough of his mind already.

"Oh right. _Nice_. This jealous moment coming from the man who was picking up the flavor of the week when I caught up with him last night." Just like that the pleading disappeared, pushed brutally aside by righteous anger. Now who was jealous? Well, he felt a whole lot better about burying memories of her in other women now that he knew she'd been just as blasé about it as he'd hoped she would be. She wasn't the only one capable of doing righteous.

"Never mind what I was doing last night. That's not what's important here. Who the hell _is he_ Cal? I _want_ a_ name_." It was going to take a little more than some redirection trick to get this dog to drop his bone.

"Shut up Dean, just shut the hell up. You're safer that way until you sober up." She was done. Voice flat and defeated, she was just _done_ with everything Winchester related. Not that Dean cared.

"_Who. Is. He_?" Insistent just wasn't the word.

"None of your business." Damned if Cal had been blessed with just about as much stubborn as Dean ever had. Not that it mattered.

"_The hell it's not_!" Was he yelling? When had he started yelling? Never mind. It felt good after all those months, so he was going with it. Blame it on having gone too long without having an outlet.

"The_ hell _it_ is!_ What I do or do _not_ do with my time stopped being your _business_ when you chose to assert that chauvinist testosterone of yours by breaking things off between us. _You're _the one who took off for parts unknown without a trace. You're the one who made it _real _clear that I wasn't going to be a part of your life anymore. So you know what? You don't like it, too freaking bad. Shut up and get your drunken ass back to bed so you can sleep this garbage off. I've had enough of you to last me a lifetime."

Ouch. Well, in for a penny, right? He never had been one to listen and do as he was told, especially not from She-Ra.

She jumped when his calloused fingertips pulled the neck of her shirt out just enough to show the tag. There was something to be said about the element of surprise. That lovely shade of pink to her cheeks when he caught her off guard, for one. And what had he discovered from that tag? The punk she'd thrown in with didn't let his mother sew name tags into his clothes. Oh yeah, and he was smaller than Dean. Interesting. He'd have to think that one over later, when he sobered up. For now he couldn't resist jabbing at Cal some more.

"A _medium_ huh? Whoever the punk is, he's a little guy. Smaller than I thought. You probably picked the Midget Man because he's easier to boss around, huh?" Ooh, pretentious much? Good one Winchester.

"Yeah, the dude reminded me of _you_." And ten points to Cal on the comeback. Not that he was keeping score or anything. Incidentally? Wow! That hurt way more than it should have. Still, there was a way to turn it around. When you're tossed a bunch of lemons…

"Must've been a handsome devil then." Yup, that was lemonade alright.

"Not really." _Ouch_.

"One night stand then?" It was said sympathetically in a way that implied she'd had her heart broken. Well now, he wanted to patronize did he?

"Whatever floats your boat, Dean." She'd gone cold, as if even just investing in their usual banter was more than she was willing to put into knowing him. _That _stopped him cold, didn't it? Did she actually _like_ this mystery shirt donator? He was standing in the middle of the room, frozen to the spot with an ugly sneer on his face contemplating the possibility that some other guy might have caught Cal's eye. His eyes had gone wide and round, his mouth working open and closed in momentary shock. The full weight of what he'd done in leaving only then truly hitting him.

"_I hate him already_ Cal. I _really_ do." Words spoken in a voice so low that even he barely heard them.

The smile she produced was neither sweet nor welcoming. She was mad and boy, it showed.

"_Good."_ If he'd been a mind reader then maybe he'd have heard just how badly she wanted him to realize just what it was he'd walked out on. Then he could have explained the reasons behind his decision to leave: that Cal deserved better than what he had to offer. That same old melancholic song started playing itself out again. As much as he hated to admit it, She-Ra had made a good point about going back to sleep until he sobered up. It was easier for him to keep his mouth shut when he was unconscious. She was better off not knowing what he was feeling. Ugh, god! What _was_ it about the woman that had him thinking about _feelings! _He'd managed to repress them all so well this far.

So, deciding to err on the side of caution Dean went back to bed. He wasn't proud of it by any means but, yes, he really did stomp back towards the bed. With a muttered "Keep it down over there, some people are trying to sleep off a bender" he threw himself at the lumpy mattress like a ten year old girl throwing a tantrum. A few minutes of grumbling and pillow thumping later he had the covers pulled up over his head and was snoring away, blissfully oblivious to the death glares Cal kept sending his way.

Still it was better than waking up alone and feeling like he wanted to shoot the damned pillow next to him just for having the gall not to be _her._

* * *

Cal had been expecting a lot of things to happen when Sam finally decided to move in on Dean. The current situation wasn't one of them. Sam just wasn't the type to bugger off in the middle of the night. At least she hadn't thought he was, until now. Yet here she was, alone with Dean who was drunk, disorderly and obnoxious even in sleep.

At first she'd thought that maybe he'd gone out to the car or was sitting outside the door. Maybe he'd just wanted to be alone with his thoughts while she and Dean slept or something like that. But he hadn't and wasn't. She'd called over to the office to see if maybe he'd taken another room. There was always the possibility that he'd wanted to give her and his brother some space to try and work things out. _Not bloody likely!_ It was the sort of thing Sam did for people so the possibility was sound. The room they were currently in was the only one that had been rented out for the night, though, so that wasn't it either.

They'd made arrangements with Bobby to pick up her Mustang at the bar six hours drive away, so that couldn't have been it either. "Where the hell are you Sam?" Was the message she'd left about eighty times since she'd realized he was gone. The old Cal would've tied Dean down somewhere and gone looking for his brother, intent on dragging him back. This was the new, calmer Cal though. So instead of freaking out she took some deep breaths and pulled out her collection of knives and started in on the honing, the polishing and regular maintenance that had been neglected these past weeks chasing after Dean. It had almost worked too.

Then the man of the hour had joined the land of the living again and flushed any self control she might've had right down the crapper. _Thank you Dean Winchester, destroyer of sanity. _The whole conversation (if you could even call it that) had left Cal more than a little shell shocked. Why the hell did he care what she was wearing or where she got it from? All that harping and carrying on about a Wal-Mart t-shirt and not once did he mention the Impala and her shattered window. How drunk was he anyway?

Incidentally, watching a grown man behave like a ten year old girl throwing a tantrum? Not as entertaining as you might think. It was actually sort of sad. Then again, maybe that was the anger talking. By the time Sam waltzed through the door again the next morning Cal had thought herself around in circles so that she wondered if maybe she owed Dean an apology. She'd made it halfway to Dean's bed when the sound of the key sliding noisily home into the cheap padlock stopped her in her tracks.

"You've got some friggin' nerve Sam, waltzing back in here thinking some coffee and donuts are going to fix things when you left me alone with this inebriated asshole all night. And would it have killed you to leave a note or answer a voice mail? All this time I thought _that one_ was the hypocrite." She waved a hand behind her vaguely in the direction of Dean's sleeping form. "Guess I was wrong."

Sam heaved a deep, exhausted sigh as he set the coffee down on the rickety old table where Cal's knives had been laid out not that long before. "What happened?" The implication being that with those two it was inevitable; there would always be something. Cal wasn't sure whether to continue the rant or take offense. In the end she went a different way entirely.

"First you tell me where you've been. I'm assuming it was pretty damned important?" She'd let him have the chance to say his piece. It was only fair. Not that he deserved fair after foisting Dean on her without so much as asking, but whatever. Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, stopping momentarily at his temples to push as if to squeeze the tension out through his eyes if it were even physically possible. "Yeah, it was important." Walking over to Dean's bed he slid a hand under the pillow and pulled out the knife that was always there while his brother slept. Then he handcuffed Dean's right hand to the nearest bedpost. "Grab your coffee and come outside for a minute. We've got to talk." And he stalked out the door without even waiting to see if she'd follow. _Why do I get the feeling that the crap's about to hit the fan again?_ Gee, I don't know Cal. Probably because it always does.

What could a girl do but scoop up her own coffee from the table and follow him out?

"We've got a problem." Were the first words out of Sam's mouth. Oh great, exactly the words a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning when she hasn't slept in days. "You mean, other than your obnoxiously jealous brother sleeping off a drunken bender in there?" Being a smartass was a pretty satisfying way of dealing with it.

"Yeah, bigger than Dean. Bigger than Dean's standing on the America's Most Wanted list. It's got to do with this John Wayne, Malcolm Mackenzie guy." Oh. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to know. "Ash called last night." Oh, so _that's_ where he'd gone off to. "So far he's traced this same guy all the way back to Scotland." Okay, so he was Scottish. Not such a big deal, right? Sure, she was having a bit of a hard time picturing the snakeskin cowboy look paired up with a kilt. Still, she was thinking they'd dodged a bullet until Sam dropped the real bomb. "Farthest back we can find him is Inverness, 1348 where he apparently died of the Black Plague and then supposedly came back to life again a couple of days later." Um… "I'm sorry, _what_? Are you actually telling me that we might very well have been collaborating with something we might have to hunt down later?"

And there was the million dollar question, right there. What was Malcolm Mackenzie, John Wayne the faux-Duke, and why did he want to help them? "I'll tell you one thing. What with the Caveman in there drunk as a skunk and freaking out about the shirt I wear to bed and your American feds on our asses I am _not_ liking the odds that this mystery guy is _actually_ on our side." Sam's 'me neither' didn't have to be spoken to be understood. What the hell were they going to do now?

"She-Ra!" Dean's hoarse cry came from the other side of the door. "Turn the volume down on the smell of that coffee would ya? Trying not to puke my way through a hangover here." Oh, fantastic! _Here we go again._ "Serves you right, bozo. At least if you're throwing up I won't have to listen to you being an _ass_."

Cal waved off Sam's quizzical look in favor of rolling her eyes skyward and begging for the patience to deal with _that man_ until he sobered up properly. "What the hell happened while I was gone?" "Not much. Your brother accused me of sleeping with a midget. Then he had a meltdown any self respecting ten year old girl would be proud of when I refused to tell him where the shirt I was wearing came from." Sam just stared, mouth slightly agape, as he tried to figure out what she was talking about. "What? Why?" "I dunno, _you_ ask him. I've done my time."

"_She-Ra! _Why the hell am I handcuffed to the damned bed?" Yeah, Dean sure was at the top of his game. "You did it, you clean it up. I've done my part." Cal was bone tired. So without looking back she walked over to the driver's side of her mustang. "Where are you going?" Sam sounded worried. Like maybe he thought she would take off on him like Dean had. She just popped the trunk and pulled out a blanket and a pillow. "I'm going to get some shut eye. Fair warning? I am not going back in there until you've talked some sense into that idiot brother of yours. Got it?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Why would she? Cal didn't require an answer when she gave an order. Sam waited while she clambered into the back seat and beat the lumpy pillow into some semblance of submission. It was entirely possible she was imagining a certain pig-headed Winchester's face in its place while she did. When Sam was sure she'd made herself comfortable and wasn't going to just run off, he turned back toward the motel room door. It was time to deal with the other half of their problems.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_You Don't Need Crossroads and Demons to Make a Deal With the Devil_

A man in a fancy, expensive suit sat on a park bench next to a guy in a snakeskin cowboy hat. Each held a cup of coffee and had a bag of some sort at their feet. "You're sure you can deliver the girl?" The man in the suit asked, solicitously. "The boss has been looking for her for a long time now. He'll be disappointed if this deal falls through, if you understand my meaning." His meaning being that they would both sorely regret the failure.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I know exactly where she is. I just need some time to convince her to come." The man in the hat wasn't worried. He'd been around longer than the man in the suit and had learned a thing or two about survival. He could disappear as effectively as any apparition dissipating into thin air. 'The boss' had nothing on him. What he _did_ have was the answer to Sam Winchester's current dilemma: a way to have both he and his brother pardoned, free and clear of the law. Unfortunately, as it had always been and would always be, everything came with a price.

"He'll need some sort of insurance, you understand? Proof that she is who you claim her to be?" Of course the conniving old coot would ask for insurance. What, did he think this was the first time he'd made a deal with a devil before? "I been following her family around since her grandad's grandfather's time. It's her. Proof's in the bag. I got exactly what he asked for." The man in the hat pushed the backpack over toward the man in the suit with his foot but stopped when it was just out of comfortable reach. "You have something for me?" It wasn't a question but a demand. The terms had been clear. At this juncture it was proof of the girl for the Winchesters walking, free and clear, no strings attached

"It's all there, to be issued at your discretion. You'll have to make it appear difficult for them to truly believe without suspicion." The man in the suit warned halfheartedly. He was only offering the advice in order to maintain the integrity of the deal. The girl would not be delivered until their end of the bargain had been fully completed. "No kidding? John Winchester's paranoid boys are going to need a little extra convincing, you say? I would've never guessed." Hat guy looked suit guy square in the eye, not the least bit intimidated by the power he was so obviously used to wielding in order to make people bend to his will. "Look, this stuff you're giving me advice on? This is my life. I know what I'm doing. You worry about your politics and intrigue, kid, leave the adults to handle the big kid jobs eh?"

As the man with the snakeskin hat walked away from the bench and a slightly stunned man in a suit, he grinned a toothy, satisfied smile. The bag he had in hand finally had the answers he needed for Sam and the key to getting the girl's attention. Soon she would get a taste of the action she'd been craving. There wasn't anything in that backpack 'the boss' didn't already know and the girl would be an easy enough sell. She'd proven time and again that she could hold her own. Even if everything went to hell in a hand basket, the plan falling apart as they put it into play, he'd still come out of it scot free with the girl in tow. "Look out Caitlin, here it comes." A past she knew nothing about was about to come crashing out of the shadows to swallow her whole and there wasn't a damned thing a Winchester could do to stop it.

* * *

"Will you give it up already? She walks in that door and you're still going on about that damned shirt she'll just walk right back out again, or worse." Sam had managed to sober Dean up, but there was no improving his mood. Not exactly surprising, but definitely frustrating.

"I'm sorry man, it's driving me crazy. Who is the guy? You just spent all that time with her, you've got to know _something_ about it." Sam had not missed that streak of just plain _impossible_ his brother had.

"Fine, but I'm only telling you because I know you won't shut up about it unless I do, okay?" Dean had that look about him, the triumphant '_yes! I am finally getting my way' _one that still managed to make him look like the kid who just got the extra cookie. "There is no guy. She got it at Walmart right after we started tailing you because we couldn't risk the Laundromat at the rate you were moving around."

The admission was almost worth the look of shock Dean wore. "That's right Dean, Cal didn't have the time to do laundry, let alone go out and raise some hell." So what Sam was essentially saying was that Dean had given Cal crap about something that hadn't even happened. Let's not forget that this was right on the tail end of her witnessing a not-so-casual encounter outside that dive bar the night before. He was such an idiot! Better not to think about it. Change of subject maybe?

"How long have you guys been following me?" Sam had made it sound like they'd been at it a while. Here Dean thought he'd been doing such a good job of covering his tracks. How much more had they seen? "Long enough." Sam couldn't risk any more than just the two words, Cal would never forgive him if he explained to Dean just how what they had seen had messed with her psyche. At least Dean had the decency to look ashamed of himself. While Dean's inner dialogue went a little something along the lines of _I am such an asshole! _what came out was a heartfelt "_Crap_." Somehow neither seemed to quite cover it.

The were interrupted by three rough raps on the cheap particle board door and Cal voice shouting its way through it. "I need a shower, I'm coming in. Everybody better be decent and I don't wanna hear a word out of the Caveman. Period." There was a brief courtesy pause before she opened the door in case there were any objections. Okay, more like she wanted to be sure they were both dressed and Sam had the time to duct tape Dean's mouth over just in case. She barged in with her head down, eyes on the carpet and turned toward them just the once and only long enough to bark out one last order. "You need to go, use the bushes out back. Bathroom's mine as long as the hot water holds out. I totally deserve it." Then she disappeared, flimsy doorknob lock snicking shut loudly in the silence she'd left in her wake.

"Sounds like Cranky McCrankypants could use a coffee." Sam shook his head disapprovingly. Maybe it wasn't too late to dig up something to gag his brother with. It was starting to look like the safer way to go. Only it wouldn't fix anything. Dean would have to put some work into resolving some of the baggage with Cal if they were going to work together indefinitely. Taking his cue from Cal's earlier '_your mess, you clean it up' _attitude, Sam gave his brother a shove in the right direction.

"Coffee pot's in the corner over there. You better make a pot of it fast, the guy at the desk said the hot water runs out pretty quickly in this place." Dean was smart enough to understand it was time for him to take the high road. Somewhere deep down he'd known that eventually they'd end up in this exact situation.

Taking comfort in the familiar routine of water, filter and scooping coffee Dean took a minute to consider what his options were. He could hit the road again, go further off the grid and basically hide in his car so they couldn't find him again. If he was being honest with himself, which he hadn't been in quite some time, running wasn't really what he wanted to do. He could give himself up to the feds. There had to be a cop shop somewhere in town. He could just walk in and hand himself over and accept the consequences of whatever actions they were accusing him of before Sam and Cal got any more deeply involved. Truth be told that wasn't an option either. He was too selfish for that.

That left swallowing his pride and sucking it up long enough to make things right with Cal. He was pretty sure she wasn't the kind of girl who gave second chances, but maybe it would be possible to salvage a half decent work relationship.

Cal had cranked the radio up loud enough to drown out the sound of her own thoughts and whatever words the brothers might have been having in the other room. Dean felt rather than heard the clinking of the spoon as he stirred the cream and sugar into two of the three mugs he'd set out. He wished the music could have drowned out his own thoughts too. This wasn't going to anything close to easy. When the music stopped Sam went over to stand next to Dean, as if reading his brother's mind. "Hey, she'll come around." Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. Whatever the case, Dean was pretty sure he didn't deserve a second thought. It was written all over his face when Cal finally emerged from her sanctuary in a dramatic puff of steam.

Cal took in Dean's sorry-that-I'm-guilty-as-hell had and she just knew they'd been talking about her. Good thing she'd taken the time to shower and regroup before facing the two of them. Winchesters! How was a girl supposed to stay sane around them? "Great, just _great!_ What d'you say to him, Sam? Why's he looking at me like that?" This was already shaping up to be a long, _long _day.

Dean had been planning to hand her the coffee as a peace offering but considering how defensive she'd become it was safer for Sam to hand it to her. She took it carefully, but not before issuing a warning of her own. "Quit it, Dean. Just, _don't_ look at me like that." The unspoken threat of violence written in the tightly reigned way she held herself. _You did that Dean, you're doing it right now._ As if he could feel any guiltier.

Sam, wiser of the two that he was, recognized the need for redirection when he saw it. So he jumped in with the news he had been waiting to break until Cal joined them. "John Wayne called while you were out in the car, he's on his way. He thinks he might have what we need to clear Dean." Probably not the best change of subject considering John Wayne was right up there on Cal's 'not my favorite person' list. Still, better to give her the time to prepare for his arrival than just spring the guy on her and blindside her with it.

"Are we still calling him that, then? Or should we just let him know we're aware that his name is actually Malcolm and that we know he's probably older than dirt?" Call them as you see them Cal. "Because, honestly? I'm not sure what the best move is with this guy. I mean, I definitely want to find out what this guy has that he thinks will be the answer to every problem you boys've ever had with the authorities. Do I want to know what the end cost'll be? Not particularly. I've got this bad feeling that it'll turn out to be more than we've got to give."

"Hang on. Wait, just stop a sec. You guys actually know that John Wayne guy? Big dude, wears a weird cowboy hat and likes scare the bejesus out of people by way of sneaking into their motel rooms when they're not there?" Dean wasn't a big fan of the guy, but he had his own reasons for that. It said something that Sam and Cal were dealing with the guy and still didn't trust him. Didn't exactly add to the popularity points in Dean's book.

Cal ignored him outright, choosing instead to start brushing out the tangles in her still-damp hair. "He's the one that found you, actually. He was one of the guys dad served with in the marines, that's why I called him. I asked Bobby and Ash to look him up, just in case." Okay, so Sam was more worried about the guy than he was letting on. So was Cal, judging by how forceful she was becoming with that brush.

"You alright over there She-Ra? You get any rougher with that thing and you're gonna start balding." A tease meant to cover the concern, not nearly as well received as Dean would have hoped. He had earned the scowl though, so it was fair enough. Moving right along he asked the next logical question. "So what do we have on the guy then? There's got to be something if he's got different identities.

"John Wayne's real name is actually Malcolm Mackenzie. Ash is still digging but when I talked to him yesterday he'd found some stuff that might turn out to be a problem." Well they were all about problems these days, weren't they? The way Dean saw it, one more on the heap was just more of the same. When Sam didn't fill in the blanks on his own, Dean got impatient. "Am I going to have to call Ash myself to find out what the 'stuff' is?" It might have come out harsher than he'd intended but the outcome was just what he'd hoped for.

Cal tossed the brush down on the rickety dresser in front of her and turned to Dean. "Malcolm Mackenzie's been around since Thirteen-forty-something Scotland when he died of the plague and came back to life." Words spat angrily out as she twisted her hair up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She pretended to concentrate on the elastic she looped around the hair to keep it in place as an excuse to continue avoiding any actual eye contact with Dean. He figured he probably deserved that too.

"You guys trying to tell me we've got to add the Highlander to the list of things we thought didn't exist but actually do? Is this guy dangerous?" All they needed was some poser, kilt wearing cowboy wannabe running around chopping people's heads off with a sword and stealing their souls to get by. "Dunno, ask your brother. He's the one with the answers. I'm going to go grab a decent cup of coffee, this stuff could give sewage a run for its money." She would have run for the door, but that would have given away how desperate she was to get the hell away from Dean. Angry, caustic and rude she could handle. This sudden change to wanting-forgiveness, kill-a-girl-with-kindness Mr. Nice Guy was a whole different ball game. Cal did not like the feeling of being off kilter that being around that man was giving her. Breathing didn't come easy until she pulled the Mustang into the parking lot of the nearest Dunkin' Donuts ten minutes away.

Back at the motel Sam and Dean shared a moment of silence after watching her leave. "Well, that could've gone better." Again with the stating of the obvious, Dean. "Maybe. Could've been a lot worse." Sam made a very valid point. The Cal that Dean had known would have taken a swing at him, at the very least. "Hey, is it just me or is she… I don't know, tamer? Calmer?" Dean could tell the difference but he couldn't quite pinpoint what had changed in Cal. "Guess we'll find out." Was Sam's terse reply; the implication being that having Dean around would put it to the ultimate test.

Well it wasn't like Dean could argue, was it?

* * *

Malcolm had been driving toward the motel where the Winchesters were staying when he noticed the little red Mustang pull into the Dunkin' Donuts. It said something that she hadn't noticed his unmistakable, worn out pickup truck as it turned in behind her. Just as well. The girl looked like she could use a minute. The way she ran her fingers up into her hair and grabbed a couple of fistfuls, face contorting as if she was trying hard not to scream. That one had lots to be unhappy about. Maybe it was just as well he could get her alone first. He could tell her everything, the whole truth and nothing but. It sure wouldn't be a terrible thing to have an O'Sulivan back in his court again.

Biding his time so he could get her in the right mood, he went in to the coffee shop ahead of her. Cowboy hat left behind in the interest of anonymity. He watched her as she ordered, fascinated by her every move. Curious about why she felt compelled to order coffee for everyone even though she was the only one there. Four coffees meant that Sam had mentioned his impending arrival. She didn't plan to stick around to eat. She was taking the coffee and her bagful of sugar in donut form straight back. He'd have to intercept her in the parking lot.

"Caitlin!" He called to her from the door as she made her way across the lot toward where she'd parked. She jumped at the sound of her name and he was sorry for startling her. Couldn't be helped though. He had to get her attention. There wasn't much time and there was a lot of ground to cover.

"Holy heart attack much? Don't scare a girl like that! Oh, and it's Cal, buddy. The only two people who've ever been allowed to call me that other name are dead. Use it again and you might just join them." It had taken her a beat to recognize him without the distracting snakeskin, but she knew who he was. "Sorry. I had to be sure you heard me." Cal didn't look like she believed him. Distrust was written all over her features. "What do you want, Malcolm? _If_ that's even your real name." Good, she was a couple of steps further ahead than he'd expected. Less to explain.

"Did someone give you that name, or do you remember?" She smirked at him, almost glad to have something that wasn't the Caveman to figure out. "I guess you could say a little of column A and a little of column B." She wasn't giving any more than that. If there was going to be any volunteering of information it was going to have to be Malcolm's doing. She was so much like her father it made Mal want to smile. He would have too, if he had any way of predicting how she'd interpret it. "I was there the night you killed your first vampire. I was mostly dead, tied to a chair and bleeding out. Your Dad was trying to get me out. We wouldn't have made it out if you hadn't left your hiding spot to help. I never got the chance to thank you for saving my life." A lot had happened that night. At eight years old it wasn't surprising that after everything she'd have fallen asleep in the truck on the way to drop Malcolm off at the train station. "I'd like to do it now, Cal, by returning the favor."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Pardon Me?  
_

Cal had a lot to think about on her way back to the motel; too much. She sent the coffee along with Malcolm back to the hotel so she could go for a drive and think it over. He'd taken the hell of a risk bringing her in on his plan and telling her the truth of what was really going on behind the scenes. A lot of it hinged on her ability to keep her mouth shut and not tell Sam and Dean what her part in it was going to have to be. Could she do it? Certainly. Did she want to? That was the tricky one: she wasn't sure.

It took hours before she gave up trying to figure herself out and turned the car back toward the Winchesters. In the end her decision was to just wait it out. There was no harm in keeping the conversation with Malcolm to herself until she'd had a chance to work out her own emotions, right? Sure, because everything always worked out great that way. For now, this was the only option she could see.

"Where'd you go for coffee, Cal? The moon?" Dean, gotta love that pain in her ass. She wouldn't miss that much when it was gone again. "Yeah. There's a great little mom and pop place run by a couple of Martians that makes a mean café mocha. I figured after dealing with your crusty, drunk behind all of last night it was worth the trip." If he was going to break out the attitude, she was going to give him her best right back.

"Alright you two, that's enough." This death glare brought to you by a very dark, very annoyed Sam. He wasn't going to put up with their crap like he used to and Cal couldn't find it in her to blame him for it. An eye roll later she was ready to get to business. "So, what's the word?" Malcolm should have been there already. She'd anticipated the 'pitching it to the Winchesters' part of his plan to take longer. It had been one of the reasons she'd taken so long. "Malcolm, or John or whatever his name is popped in just long enough to drop off some coffee and went off to sleep. He's two doors over." Wow, Sam was really upset. What the heck had happened while she'd been out?

"So, is somebody going to fill me in on whatever this is? Something's happened to get you in a mood, Sam. Considering you're the level headed one of the three of us, I'm inclined to take notice when you start to sound like your brother. What's up?" Easier to keep her secret if she got the guys talking about their own problems. "Nothing happened. I guess I just… would've been nice if Malcolm had stuck around long enough to give us some good news. You know?" Ah, yes. Sam was eager to get moving on the 'get Dean out of jail free' card. That would explain Dean's attitude too. "Well, that and you took so long getting back we were getting pretty sure you'd decided not to." Actually, that didn't surprise her so much. She'd half expected a long distance call from Fran sometime during her drive around town. It was her m.o. after all. Then again, that didn't mean a girl had to like being called on it. "Nice Dean. I'd like to think that after spending all this time together, running around after your sorry self, Sam knows better. You took that job over for me, remember?" Okay, maybe she wasn't done hitting below the belt yet. It was fair. Dean wasn't exactly above pulling punches and a girl had to hold her ground. "Tell you what, girls. You two sit around and wring your hands a little longer, I'll go over and wake the sleeping Cowboy Highlander. I'd just as soon be on the road by nightfall if it's all the same." Not a word passed in her wake as she strutted right back out the door.

* * *

Malcolm had a much different greeting for her when she rapped at his door. He opened up to her wearing nothing but a set of long underwear bottoms. They were a classic bright red with old fashioned wood buttons, not that Cal had noticed or anything. Well, okay, maybe she noticed a little. Like _holey moley_ the guy was built like, well, like a warrior. Fitting she supposed given the era he'd been born to but still a bit of a shock to the system. A pleasant one. "It's the damnedest thing but I can totally picture you bare-chested in nothing but a kilt and sporran, racing across the hills into battle like in that Braveheart movie." The guy's chuckle was rich and deep enough to give her chills. Lord help her but she was suddenly craving chocolate for some odd reason.

"Would you like to see it, then? Won't take a minute to dig it out of my bag." God, it was nice to share a little banter. He owned a kilt did he? She smiled easily, taking a moment to just enjoy the feeling before answering. "Nah, I'll pass." Though it was an interesting concept; he sure was easy on the eyes. "Listen, the guys are chomping at the bit to find out what you've got for Dean. I thought you were going to get started right away." He raised a brow at the slightly accusatory tone, but shifted aside just the same and waved her in. "I didn't want to rush into anything until you came back. I just dumped a whole lot of responsibility on your shoulders and I didn't think it would hurt to give you a minute to think it over before making your choice." In other words, he didn't want to start in on the lie if she was just going to out him on it. Smart man; so smart he probably had some kind of backup plan.

"For the record?" She was suddenly very curious what that plan might be. "Let's say I tell them everything and refuse to take your offer. What then?" Would he still help the Winchesters if she didn't hold up to her end of things?. He wasn't giving off a dangerous vibe but that didn't mean he wasn't. "I'm not a monster Caitlin." Something in her expression must have given her away. "I'd still help the Winchesters. If you didn't come willingly I'd just have to knock you over the head and drag you off in the middle of the night afterward. Come hell or high water, you've got a part to play in the bigger picture and it'll be infinitely better for you if I'm next to you when that happens." Damn. Well, he'd promised her honesty. Good to know he was following through. "Was that meant to be comforting? Because somehow it falls a little short." He was unknowingly giving her a prime view of his assets while he pulled on a pair of faded, worn Levi's and she wasn't above enjoying the view. "Would you have preferred if I'd just skipped telling you and gone with plan B?" Okay, so maybe Winchester wasn't the only caveman out there. Clubbing a girl over the head and dragging her off in the middle of the night definitely qualified. "No, I guess not. How are you planning to approach the whole identity thing with the guys? Finding out third hand from Ellen's resident kid genius didn't exactly inspire trust. Plus there's the matter of your age. I've gotta say, you look pretty good for six hundred some odd years. You've got to know that the Winchesters are going to want to be sure you're not something they'll need to hunt." She was ready to take his lead for now. There was history between them and for all intents and purposes he owed her but he had the plan so it was better to play along until she knew more.

"I'm the one who gave Ash the okay to tell them everything. I figured you all would be more receptive about giving me a chance to explain if you had a chance to think about it first." Not just a handsome face, that one. "So you're going to tell them everything?" Well that was a relief. "Not everything, but just about. I don't want them getting involved with the people I'm dealing with. I owe their father to do better by them than that." His words made her feel less important somehow, like Malcolm thought Sam and Dean were worth protecting and somehow she wasn't. When her face fell he touched a hand to her cheek, tracing the outline of it with his fingertips. "Don't look at me like that, Catie." He spoke gently, soothingly. "This is your family's drama we're dealing with and I don't want you involved either, but there isn't much choice. You think your Dad would've wanted me to take care of it without getting you involved?" Okay. So maybe he had a point. If there was anything Jacob had taught her growing up it was that you cleaned up your messes. She hadn't actually made this mess, but her family had and so it came out to the same. "Point made. I don't think I'd have let you get away with cutting me out of the solution either. Just so you know, I'm going to play dumb with Sam and Dean. We never talked. Everything you tell them'll be as new for me as it is for them and when it's all said and done you and me will leave to deal with the rest." Without cluing Sam and Dean in, of course.

If it hadn't been for the memory of that night a little over two decades earlier, Cal would've been a much tougher sell. Letting Malcolm take the lead would have been completely out of the question. As it was, she would be taking the wheel as soon as Sam and Dean were in the rearview mirror. In the meantime, she was going to have a little fun. Time enough to get serious when the crap hit the fan later. "Hey, uh, could you do me a favor? Don't bother buttoning up the shirt, okay? I owe Dean and I think it's time to cash in." Well what? Eye candy was eye candy and if a girl had the opportunity to get a great view while annoying a certain Winchester, then she'd be crazy to pass it up. "Woman, you are _dangerous_." And yet, Malcolm went ahead and did as she asked. She was treated to the flex of his wide, muscled shoulders as she followed him out to the lot. This guy was going to be fun to have around.

* * *

"I don't like it." Nobody thought Dean would. No surprise that he'd be so vocal about it. "There's too much that could go wrong." The overprotective bum had all kinds of objections, to be sure. Still, it was the only way this was going to happen. There were no other options anymore, not now that Cal's history had found its way into the mix. Of course, he couldn't know that. In that context his objections were perfectly viable. "I've gotta say, I'm with Dean on this one." Sam had thrown in with his brother but in his case it was more from the logistical side of things. "You're not just talking about convincing a governor to grant Dean a pardon. We've got to convince him he's got an angry ghost in his house, then save him from it in a way that makes him so thankful he offers it up." Nice of him to leave out the part where there there might not actually be a ghost so they'll have to fake one. Cal, playing the part of hearing this for the first time, felt like she ought to weigh in as she normally would. With a fair amount of criticism. "Let's not forget the part where we might have to fake the whole thing. I'm not loving this plan, personally." Malcolm raised a brow at her in warning, hard to say if it was an act for Sam an Dean or if he meant it. Cal stuck her tongue out at him rebelliously. If he didn't like having someone poke at the holes in a plan as breezy as swiss cheese then he should have plugged some of them up before proposing it. "Easy on the sarcasm there, lady. Nobody said this was going to be cakewalk. Of course, if you don't think you're up to it I could always go ahead and see about doing it myself. Bringing you kids in on this is more of a courtesy anyway."

Oh no, he _didn't_! "Hey! Nobody said we weren't up to it." Dean hackles were raised and he was ready to prove himself. Perfect! Malcolm was playing the guy's ego like it was a fine tuned instrument and he was a concert musician. The possessive side of Cal was getting more than a little annoyed. She was the only one allowed to mess with Winchester like that, right? Only that wasn't the case anymore. "What I said was that I don't like your plan because of all the holes. Now, the way I see it, we need pick a governor and then scope out their place so we can find out what we're dealing with." Cal smiled that evil smile of hers, the thought of hunting something improving her mood instantly. She was definitely in need of a job. In the spirit of the feeling she weighed in with a very good (if leading) question. "Alright, which governor are we 'saving' here? I wouldn't mind parking the Mustang up at Bobby's or storing her up at my mechanic's place in New York." She'd even consider Harvelle's if it was on the way.

"I've got three choices lined up for you guys. Louisiana's a pretty fair bet. There's always something going on down there so chances are we'll actually come up with something real. The governor's not much of a believer, though he is into the voodoo stuff that's popular in that area. He's not very good at it but it does give us room to play at convincing him." That got a grunt from Dean and a snarky "Not my first choice" from Cal. Voodoo was messy business any way you looked at it and her experiences with it had been touch and go at best. "Yeah, mine either." Malcolm agreed, a world of meaning in his tone. Okay, so number one wasn't really an option after all.

"Number two would be New Hampshire. Not much of a skeptic, that one. He visits a psychic regularly to get advice on everything from campaigning to his marriage. His own mother calls him a 'tree hugging hippy'. Dude's a big believer in corporal punishment, though, so the stakes are higher if things go south." Sam was on his feet at the second the words 'corporal punishment' pushed past Malcolm's lips, already defensive as if ready to physically fight this one off. "No. Nuh-unh. No way are we poking at a guy that could stick Dean with a death sentence. Scratch that one off right now. We're not doing it." Okay then, so that was option two vetoed. Cal was hoping Malcolm was saving the best for last because things were looking pretty grim for the plan right then.

"That leaves Washington." Malcolm continued as if Sam hadn't just freaked out. "I like this one, actually. Looked it up myself. The governor's a pretty easy going lady and she scares easy, which works for us. Open minded, too, which is also a plus. I had a buddy of mine check out her place in Olympia earlier today and it looks like there might actually be something up our alley to work with." Okay, good news all around. Knowing what she knew, though, Cal saw this last one for what it was: a set up. Malcolm had wanted the Washington governor all along. He just sort of walked Sam and Dean through to where he wanted them to end up. Honestly, she was surprised they fell for it.

"We know this buddy of yours?" Dean was naturally suspicious, but no more than usual. "What exactly does 'right up our alley' mean?" Sam was after the details. Fair enough. Malcolm would've answered but Cal piped in with a slightly different question of her own. "Washington's north of us. Parking my Mustang at my mechanics, at Bobby's or even Harvelle's would take us on one hell of a detour." Three cars would only call more attention to their little group, but there was also the small matter of the quick getaway when the time came to leave with Malcolm. Moving about would be faster and more stealthy if she was seat hopping from the Impala to Malcolm's truck.

"Probably not." Malcolm answered Dean. "Ghost of some sort, hard to say if it's a omen or just a displaced spirit getting ready to scare the crap out of people." To Sam, and finally he answered Cal giving her more attention than both brothers combined. "I've got a guy in Nevada, owes me a favor. Runs an impound lot and a storage facility. It'll be safe there. You can ride with me from there on out." Sam and Dean were suddenly very interested in what her reaction would be, she'd just been told after all. Cal wasn't great at taking orders. For her part she was having a hard time telling if Malcolm was making her decisions for her to get Dean's goat or if he was serious. Either way Cal wasn't all that sure how she felt about being told what to do.

"I…" That there was any sort of hesitation on her part was a surprise to them all. Unfortunately it was all the invitation Dean needed to put his two cents in. "Whoa there, dude. I don't know how familiar you are with our girl here but no one just tells Cal what to do. Not without losing a body part or something." Regardless of the fact that Dean was so obviously trying to stick up for her, his warning became her deciding factor. "Sure." She agreed, eyeing Malcolm up long and slow to get a rise out of Dean. "It's been awhile since I've seen Nevada in any way other than just driving through. It's up to you boys if you want to follow us. Maybe I can decide who I'll ride with the rest of the way when we get there." Sam didn't look surprised. In fact, if she didn't know any better she'd have said he was relieved not to have to referee for a while.

Dean was just standing there looking like he'd been punched in the gut, but Cal couldn't worry about him now. That was Sam's job. She'd have to remind herself of that now that they were all together. There were bigger things at play here than a few unresolved emotions for a man she wasn't even sure she liked at the moment. Especially not when she wasn't all that sure if she liked herself.  
"Yeah, about that. What are we calling you now? Cat's out of the bag, we know John's not your real name and we still don't know anything about this Malcolm identity of yours. We're going to need some details in case we need to hunt you down later, if Cal goes missing on the way up to Washington." Already having had enough, Cal stalked back out to the car. Let the guys work that bit out for themselves. Malcolm had already walked her through the Coles Notes version of his past earlier in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. She had to get her Mustang ready to be parked indefinitely, after all. That meant packing up whatever was in there that she'd normally just leave lying around in the backseat or the trunk.

All of her clothes, spare identification, passport, various knives and weaponry; those all went in her duffel bag with her wallet. If some of the stuff she'd borrowed off of Sam made it in there too, she didn't think much of it. Wouldn't be the first time she took off with some guy's clothes and it probably wouldn't be the last either. In the other bag went the two pillows she'd taken to stashing away in the trunk, just in case, and the blankets too. Her first aid kit fit nicely in there once she smushed the pillows down to a manageable size. Her mind whirred away incessantly as she packed and organized. Miscellaneous empty Walmart and Target bags were collected from under the seats, filled with equally empty take out containers and chocolate wrappers. _There's too much going on. Got to think this all through before things get out of_ _control_. She had the nagging feeling that things were already completely out of her control and that scared her beyond words. She was finding it way too easy to trust Malcolm when she knew so little about him. A few compliments from her Dad over the years and a couple of dark memories of that hunt when she'd been eight should not have been enough for her to follow him blindly into the dark. Yet, here she was, doing just that.

_Then there's Winchester. _Yeah, _him_. What was she going to do about Dean? If it was unnaturally easy to trust Malcolm, it was downright scary how quickly she and Dean had fallen into old habits. The bickering banter wasn't as much of a pain in the ass as she was making it out to be. If she was going to be honest with herself, it was the feelings that they dredged up again that she was having a hard time dealing with. As much as Cal would have liked to have left Dean in her past, her heart had apparently decided otherwise. Better to take her time and distract herself, making sure everything was in working order in her emergency roadside kid. Her half empty case of disposable water bottles was cut down to size. The cooler was emptied of melted ice, no longer necessary since she and Sam had finished the perishables days earlier. Take out was faster and easier anyway.

Dean kept checking up on her through the motel room window. He was trying not to look like he was, but subtle had never really been his thing. He looked worried and that led her to worry too. Had she managed to pull off convincing them nothing was wrong? Maybe Dean was just being protective because he wasn't sure what to expect from her after the hard time he'd given her the night before. Should she have picked a fight with him? No. Then Sam would have been worried. She'd been so careful lately.

_Girl, you need some space. _It was becoming increasingly clear that Cal needed some time alone with her thoughts, without the male audience. Minutes after Malcolm found his way back to his room Cal went knocking. "Open up, cowboy!" Who would have thought a six hundred year old man would have any kind of need for locks? Maybe he'd been looking to challenge her? "Thirty seconds, Malcolm Mackenzie. Thirty seconds and I'm picking the lock, regardless of what you are or are not wearing." It wasn't a warning so much as a promise. She was already working the tumblers when the doorknob started to turn seconds later. He must've just thrown himself down on the bed because he was all mussed hair and bleary eyes. "You have something against letting a guy get some shut eye?" He was not amused, in fact he looked genuinely offended. Well that was just too bad. Her sanity was more important than his beauty sleep. "I need the address for your guy in Nevada. I'm gonna take off early and meet you guys there. Also I need you not to mention it to Sam and Dean until the morning when they realize I'm gone." She wasn't going to explain herself. He was just going to have to do what she told him to.

"Yeah, no problem." Well didn't Malcolm just fall in line for her as if he'd been expecting as much, placing a piece of paper in her hand with a name and address already on it. "Now would you bugger off and let me get some sleep?" Wow, and he was cranky. Well alright, she supposed he was entitled. She'd have been in a worse mood in his shoes. All in all, that went better than expected.

* * *

Back in the Winchester's room, things were a little less quiet.

"What do we know about this guy Sam? Nothing. That's what. Oh, wait, no. We do know what he'd told us, which is basically that he's been around for freaking _ever_. Oh, and let's not forget the part about the faster than average healing which makes him next to impossible to kill. That one's my favorite." Out of the frying pan of her own thoughts and into the fire of Dean's fears. Fantastic. This was exactly why she needed a few minutes to breathe. Clearly 'the talk' about Malcolm's past had not gone as well as the old man had hoped. Well that accounted for the attitude he'd had when he'd answered the door.

"So we'll be careful."Ever the reasonable one. Couldn't Dean see that Sam just needed to at least look into their first viable lead toward a pardon they'd found in months? "I've had a year to let the options play out and we don't have a whole lot of them left. This is it, and the way I see it there isn't any harm in looking into this governor in Washington. It's basically just another hunt, the difference is we'll be asking for a sort of payment for once." Wow, put it that way and it sounded like a walk in the park. Reasonable even. From Dean's sour puss expression it was pretty clear he wasn't having any of it. Instead of arguing his side, though, he went looking to Cal for some backup. _A little soon for that, isn't it buddy? _It would take more than that to stop Dean.

"What about you, Cal? I thought for sure if anyone was going to be against this, it would be you." Ooh, not a great move, Dean, confronting a girl while she's packing up her stuff. Time to put a dude in his place. "I'm here for Sam." She couldn't make it any simpler or any clearer for the guy. Blinking wide, he rubbed at his cheek as if she'd slapped him. Sam watched her carefully, not saying much as she brushed her hair out and braided it. He didn't say anything, but he was keeping tabs. His brother just kept pushing. "You don't think there's anything off about this guy? Like he knows something we don't?" Dean could almost _taste_ the deception and she could tell it was killing him, not being able to figure out what it was when it was right in front of him. "Do yourself a favor and look around Dean. By your definition of 'off' we all qualify as untrustworthy." She didn't want to look at those hazel eyes full of betrayal and concern so she busied herself elsewhere instead. "Sam's got a point. Regardless of what's going on with this Malcolm guy, he's come up with a pretty good plan. Sure, there are holes, but it's still better than anything Sam's been able to come up with and that's saying a lot." Her hairdryer and hairbrush joined the shampoo and soap in her duffel bag. The only things left now were the toothbrush and the paperback she'd left on the table by Sam's laptop.

"Guys, I'm exhausted. Sleeping in the car isn't as fun or comfortable as it used to be. I really just want to get a little sleep in a real bed. Can't we finish this later?" Afraid to give herself away, she avoided looking at Sam and leveled her tired look at Dean instead. Maybe he'd be distracted enough not to have noticed that she was getting ready for a quick getaway. His sympathy was unexpected, but she soaked it up anyway. It felt nice and she would be gone soon anyway. All the more reason to indulge, right? "Yeah, okay. Go ahead, it'll keep." Dean did not just concede in the middle of an argument, did he? She didn't know what to say when he went that extra step and turned down the blankets on the bed he hadn't already messed up for her. "We can clear out for a bit, if you want. Give you some time?" Deep breath, Cal. It'll be okay. A quick eye roll to stop any proof that she might be going soft on the caveman again and she dove under the covers, fully clothed with a 'don't bother on my account'.

Minutes later she was asleep and Sam was nodding toward the bathroom where he and Dean could talk without waking her up. "You saw what she was doing right?" Sam asked his brother. "Yeah. She's getting ready to take off." Grim acceptance from Dean because, let's face it, he deserved as much. "Any idea where she's planning to go?" If anyone would know at this point, it would be Sam. "I'm hoping she's just looking for a head start to Nevada to get some time alone, but it's hard to say. She's been hard to read since we started following you around." No big surprise there. "Alright, what are we doing? Do we let her go or do we make it impossible for her to sneak off when we're not looking?" Dean's laugh was harsh, no trace of illusion there. "Sam, you know as well as I do that if that woman wants to leave there isn't a damn thing we can do to stop her." No, stopping her wasn't an option, but maybe helping her was. Dean had just frittered away the last year going from place to place with his head up his ass p the putting the people he cared about through hell. If he played his cards right, maybe he could start making it up to at least one of them.

Placing the keys to the Impala in Sam's hand he nodded toward the door. "You go warm her up. We're going on a coffee run. I'll be right out." Hopefully Cal would still be there when they got back. If not, then at least he'd know the gift he was leaving her would be there in her duffel bag if she needed it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Silent Tears and Bitter Fears  
_

It was amazing what a difference a little distance could make. Four o'clock in the morning found Cal parked right on the Nevada state line, drinking a lukewarm coffee and munching on extra sweet day-old donuts filled with chocolate icing. The longer she sat there thinking about this so-called plan of Malcolm's the less she liked it. Dean was right, there were holes, too many of them. It wasn't so much the Winchester end of things. Sam and Dean were already in the clear. Malcolm had struck a deal with what was left of Cal's family to secure the pardon for them. Call it a 'two birds with one stone' type of situation. The paperwork had been signed and their freedom was a done deal. The only reason Malcolm had them heading up to Washington was to give Cal time to hold up her end of the deal he'd made. If she didn't walk into the family fold willingly, the pardon would be revoked and all bets were off. Dean would be in hotter water than ever and everyone she cared about would have great big targets on their backs.

"Why me?" She asked the darkness. Those donuts weren't so sweet anymore. Cal couldn't really taste them for the bile that burned at the back of her throat. Somewhere out there was a great uncle who wanted her to 'come home'. Her father had told her stories, not as a child but when she became a young woman, about growing up in the O'Sulivan family and what it used to mean. Living on a compound in the middle of the Canadian nowhere, being trained like warriors. All of it infinitely worse than the ridiculously high expectations she'd had for herself from a young age. Jacob O'Sulivan had been extra careful to raise his daughter right and he'd had good reason. There was no way he was going to let the family destroy his baby's innocence and break her spirit. They'd gone up there once, to the place where Jacob had grown up. What they had believed was the last of her grandfather's siblings had passed on, leaving them to be the last surviving O'Sulivans. Or so they'd thought. One insane "And now, here I'm going to just waltz right in to a messed up family reunion." She was going to just offer herself up to the mercy of their crazy. Yeah, great plan Malcolm. But what choice did she have?

The alternative didn't just involve a revoked pardon. Apparently her great uncle was connected, and well at that. The alternative was to be hunted down like animals and tortured to suit the old man's whims. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think I miss the Earl." Somehow, the thought of an insane vampire bent on revenge seemed less overwhelming and hopeless than a great uncle who wanted to mold her into a machine; someone who lived only to hunt, taking pleasure in nothing else. Malcolm had been very specific about what the man would expect.

"He'll kill you if you don't do it, Cal." And the worst part was her great uncle wasn't doing it because he wanted her in the fold. What he really wanted were the journals her father had taken with him when they'd settled the family affairs all those years ago. Breaking her first was just insurance against possible trickery. "You could probably run and scatter the journals here and there along the way. You've got the skill to be able to stay off his radar, but he knows where your Dad's farm is. He knows about Fran, the kids, the Winchesters. You can keep yourself safe, but he won't hesitate to go after the people you love to get to you." And that's where he had her. This was the mess her father would expect her to clean up. This was why she was going along with the swiss cheese plan from hell. Why the hell couldn't the old guy just send someone up to steal the journals like a normal human being? Seemed like a far simpler, more effective plan to her. She'd have to ask him when they finally met.

She already missed Sam and Dean. At least they made sense. _Sure Cal, you just keep telling yourself that's the only reason you wish you hadn't left them behind again. _There were things she wished she'd said. Sam was always after her to leave a note. She could have scribbled it down, said the things she might not get the chance to say now. Well, there was one way she could get the message out. It wasn't ideal but Fran wouldn't ever forgive her if she didn't do it.

Dialing a familiar number by the harsh light of her cell phone screen she wiped at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. The voice mail picked up immediately, just like she knew it would. The cell phone was never on at night, since she and the kids were always home. "Hey Fran, it's me. I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye in person but I figured calling was better than nothing. We found Dean, but Sam probably told you that already. I want you to know that they're both okay. They're in the clear. As long as they keep their noses clean the feds won't come after them again." No harm in telling her that. It was cryptic enough that Sam and Dean wouldn't know what to make of it until she'd done what she needed to. By then it would be too late to come after her.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna have to disappear for a while." She could only hope the hitch in her voice didn't give away that she was crying. The point of her call was to keep her friend from worrying, not to scare her. "I don't know when I'll be coming around again but it won't be for a while. Tell Maggie that I'm proud of her and to keep practicing what I taught her. Tell Jace not to put too much stock in the nonsense Dean's going to try to teach him about picking up girls." That one was a hiccup, not a sob. Really, it was.

"Tell Sam…" and now the hesitation was because there was just so much to say. She settled for one word that would encompass it all. "Tell him thanks. That's it, just thanks. I'm pretty sure he'll understand." Deep breath, Cal, pull it together. You're almost done. "Tell Dean I'm sorry. He'll know what I mean too. And Fran? Take care of yourself, okay? I'll be in touch when I can." She'd never heard anything more depressing than the sound of her own tears in the silence after she hit the end button on her phone. _Suck it up, girl, or you'll never get through this in one piece. _Sometimes she really hated her inner badass. Especially when she was right

Falling back into old habits, she took a few moments to indulge and just feel the pain. Then she took the pain and turned it into anger. Shuttered up tight and seething at the mess her great uncle had made of her life she pulled her Mustang back onto the interstate. Next stop, the Nevada storage facility and Malcolm's mechanic. Step one on the long road ahead of her. One thing was for sure, Cal was going to make damned sure her family was going to be surprised at what they got when they finally met.

* * *

"She gone?" Dean wasn't even awake yet; slits for eyes as he rolled himself up to sitting on the edge of the bed. The answer was already clear, by the way the second bed had been made up. Her bag was gone, everything but the paperback which had been abandoned in that same spot next to Sam's laptop. "Yeah. Her car's not there. I don't think she's coming back." No kidding? Sherlock Holmes over there had thrown open the curtains and was looking out at the parking lot like he was waiting for a lost puppy to come home. "Well, it's not like we couldn't see it coming. Right?" No consolation there. Just because they knew she was going to leave didn't make it easier to accept once it was done.

"Hey, where's the truck?" The Snakeskin Cowboy was supposed to be taking the lead on this governor of Washington gig. It wasn't exactly a good sign that he'd go missing the same day Cal decided to go her own way. Did Malcolm go out for a coffee, some breakfast? Or did he leave with Cal? "It was gone when I opened the curtains. I thought he'd gone to get some breakfast or something." The brothers eyes met and in that moment the same thought occurred to them. _He's going after her._ Just a thought with no facts to back it up yet, but it was enough to spur them into action.

Sam ran for the door, toward Malcolm's room to search for signs that he was coming back or where they were going. He hadn't given them the address for the guy in Nevada, if he even existed. Dean jumped over the bed, still in his boxers and t-shirt, and had thrown open the door beating Sam to it. They were both ready race over and ram the damned door down to get some answers. Both certain they'd missed something important the day before, something they were pretty sure Cal had kept secret from them.

Someone had taped a thick manila envelope to the outside of their motel room door. Was it from Cal? Had Malcolm left it? "What is it?" Sam asked, because Dean had already ripped it off the door. "I don't know, Sam. What do I have x-ray vision here?" Patience was never his strong suit, especially when someone managed to con him. Testy wasn't the word anymore. Dean was downright angry. "I knew I was off my game, but I didn't think I was this far off." _Why the hell hadn't he tried to stop her from leaving?_ Sam, who had lost all grip on his own patience, snatched the envelope from Dean's fingers and tore it open. Right at the top of the ream of papers was a sheet of motel stationary, a note scrawled across it in extremely formal penmanship. It could have been written with a quill and ink. Who knew? Maybe it had been.

_Hi guys, _

_Sorry for the smoke and mirrors. It was the only way to stop you from following us. I can't tell you any more than that Caitlin's family is looking for her, they want something she has. Don't worry, there's a plan. I'll keep her safe. Please accept the contents of this envelope as a peace offering. Hopefully it will be enough to keep you from trying to kill me next time we sit across a bar from each other. _

_Malcolm_

That was it. No details. No location. No contact information. No 'in case of emergency' plan B stuff. Nothing. "You're not going to believe this." Sam was skimming through the thick stack of paper in his hands, looking pretty shocked even for him. "Try me." Irritation had Dean snapping at his brother again. He couldn't help it if the damned woman wasn't here to take her share of it. "Okay, these first two? They're official pardons, signed by the Governor of Washington. If these are real then we're in the clear with the feds. The rest of it is a bunch of research on the Governor's home in Lacey, he even added in a few pages of handwritten notes with his best theories at the end." Sam was trying hard not to be excited by the pardons but it wasn't working. A smile had spread across his cheeks that could not be tamed. "Unbelievable!" This Malcolm guy had some nerve. Did he really think that a couple of pardons and a distraction were going to be enough to veer them off course? This whole thing just reeked of Cal getting in over her head, _again._

A tiny yellow post-it note fell off the back of the paperwork Sam was still flipping through in the doorway and Dean picked it up. "Oh, great. Would you look at this?" He flipped the little yellow paper over so Sam could see it, then read it aloud for posterity. "_p.s. those pardons are conditional. Mandy will revoke them if you don't take the job._" Mandy, they assumed, was short for Amanda which just happened to be the name of the governor on their pardons.

There was no longer any doubt. "He set us up." Malcolm had made a deal, alright. One that meant getting Cal on her own and keeping them the hell away from her. "So we _can't_ follow them." Not without snubbing their noses at a couple of honest to God 'get out of jail free' cards. Sam felt ill. Dean couldn't contain what he was feeling. Maybe it was anger toward himself for making such a complete mess of himself over the past year, and the last couple of days. Maybe it was worry, because something just didn't feel right about the way things were going down.

Whatever it was, it swelled inside of him and pushed at the insides of his skull; made his heart feel like it was going to explode. Perception became skewed, the floor was moving in such a disturbing way beneath his feet that he reached out and laid hands on the chair closest to where he'd been standing. Instead of steadying himself with it, though, he just let the emotion take over. Not that he'd had much choice. It pretty much had a mind of its own already. With an animalistic roar the chair went up over his head and then flew across the room to become nothing more than bits and pieces on the floor. "Dean!" Sam was yelling his name but the release felt so good he wasn't going to stop for _anything _even if he could.

The gaudy lamp, relic from the sixties, went next. It shattered on impact, sharp shards of ugly green ceramic imbedding themselves into the discolored wallpaper above the beds. Then he lost track of what he was laying his hands on. All he could do was grab, throw and wait for the satisfying sound of crashing that came with the impact. The world around him was a blur. There was no room, no Sam, no Malcolm or Cal, only whatever he could touch and that blinding emotion. He didn't spare a thought when flipping over the table, but did crouch down long enough to pick up what fell from it. Somewhere in the depths of his mind where thought was somehow still processing he'd expected to pick up Sam's laptop. What he had in his hands was much smaller and much lighter. It threw him off enough to slow him down and make him look at whatever it was. That's when everything just stopped.

Gripped tightly within his hands was a paperback. On the cover was a kilted highland warrior whose buttonless shirt flapped open in the wind to show his massively muscled chest. At his feet knelt a pretty girl in a dress that was all but falling off, long brown curls covering whatever indecent bits that might have otherwise been exposed. Trashy romance novels were not Sam's style. Dean had picked up the book Cal had left behind and if the cover was any indication… well he just wasn't going there, was he? Dean felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over him.

"You done?" Sam's gruff question came from somewhere in the vicinity of the doorframe. "Uh, yeah." His throat felt raw, his voice was hoarse but he wasn't sure if he'd been yelling. "You gonna be okay?" And though he couldn't blame his brother for needing to know, Dean wasn't all that sure he had the answer Sam needed to hear. "I, uh, yeah." So he put on that face, the one he'd always used when he was breaking inside and needed to hide it from the world. It wouldn't fool Sam but if he wore it long enough maybe Dean could fool himself into making it true.

Bowing his head so that Sam couldn't read his face, suddenly all he could see was that nearly shirtless highland warrior on the book cover. All he could see was the guy with the cowboy hat who had surprised him in his motel room. One second the book was in his hands, the next it was following the same path that first chair had. Breathing heavily he turned to Sam, who was staring at him wide-eyed, and nodded. "I'm okay." He _had_ to be okay. There was a job in Washington to get on top of so they could get to the real business at hand: finding Cal. Given their history it was a pretty safe bet she'd need their help to stay alive through whatever the hell it was she'd got herself into this time.

Sam just sighed and shook his head. "Sure you are." Then nodded toward the untouched bathroom. "You take it first, I'll start cleaning up." Dean said nothing and it was probably safer that way. He was raw, the hold on his temper still pretty threadbare. The book was laying upside down and mangled next to his bag when he went to grab a change of clothes. In one swift move he tossed it into the garbage bin in the bathroom before getting cleaned up. A half hour later, dressed and ready to go, he looked down at it again. Without thinking, he picked it up and slid it down into the bottom of his bag. _No I'm not keeping it to give back to She-Ra. _There were good chances they'd have to salt and burn something up in Washington. He could burn it then. Probably. Maybe.

"I did what I could, but you did a hell of a job." The room had seen better days. Nothing could be done for the lamp but at least the bits had been picked out of the wall, the bulk of it in the dented trash can. The broken chairs were gone. He really had done one hell of a job. Suddenly embarrassed he cleared his throat and picked up his bag. "I'll go settle up. You want some coffee?" Sam didn't know what to make of him. This past year had been a long one and there had been a lot of changes on both sides of the Winchester coin. There was enough doubt that Sam wasn't ready to let Dean out of his sight. "Yeah. Wait for me though. I won't be more than five minutes. Meet you out at the car?"

Dean scowled, unhappy that his brother still felt he needed a chaperone. It didn't take a genius to figure out that there was a good reason for it, though, so he said nothing. He just left the room with an impatient huff.

They didn't have any time to dawdle. There was that Governor to make happy and then they had a girl to find. _Freaking Cal._ She'd been all insulted when he'd done what he'd felt was best to protect her and now here she was doing the same damned thing. With any luck they'd both come out of this having learned a little something. Probably. Maybe.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_A Bitter Pill to Swallow_

_I'm in hell._ It's the one thought she could keep in her head. _I'm in hell and it's never going to stop. _The tears had been flowing freely for a while already. In fact, she'd cried herself dry twice in the space of time she'd been there. Cal was in trouble, a lot of it, without any chance of relief.

The pain was pretty bad, but she'd had worse. It was the psychological warfare she had no defense against. They kept her in complete darkness, gave her a bowl of water in the morning and a cup of broth in the evening. Every so often a piece of bread slid through the slot where the door met the floor. If ever they thought she might be falling asleep someone would make a racket, banging away at the door until the pounding made its way into her brain. The headaches would prevent sleep of any kind. That was when the tears would come, and the desperation.

She wasn't the only one either. Somewhere beyond the darkness was a man in his own private hell. His voice normally a deep, smooth baritone now broken and gravelly made to be hardly more than a whisper in the darkness. Every so often he'd let out a roar, usually something along the lines of '_we had a deal, you've got to let her go' _and '_just leave her alone'_. Last time she'd heard him scream '_you hurt her, I swear to God I will kill you.'_ Whatever it was they were threatening to do to her, Malcolm was doing his best to talk his way into taking the brunt of it. But it wouldn't work forever. They were already getting impatient.

"The books, Caitlin. Where are they?" The faceless voice on the other side of the door would ask. "Let me out and I'll take you to them." She'd given them the same answer countless times. _Every_ damned time. It was no use telling them what they wanted to hear because then there wouldn't be any leverage. It would be too easy for them to just get rid of her and Malcolm. No, she needed them to let her out. At least then she'd have the chance to fight them and maybe, just maybe, get out.

"Tell us where the books are." Broken record much? And these folks were supposed to be her family? Cal just repeated her now standard answer which was met by silence. This was the time they'd had enough. Some kind of summoning spell was spoken just outside the door and then there was something loose in her cell, hell bent on destruction. It had to be a spirit or something, because she couldn't get her hands on the damned thing. It kept picking her up to throw her around the room like some sort of ragdoll. Left with nothing to defend herself all she could do was wait it out and try not to break any bones.

They came back again and again, over and over until she lost all track of time and self. In the moments of stillness between the ghost and Malcolm going quiet, that one thought overwhelmed her all over again. _I'm in hell._ A question without any kind of a good answer following closely on its heels: _Why didn't I tell them? _Visions of Sam and Dean rushing in to rescue her swam around in her mind's eye, fighting back the darkness and failing miserably.

* * *

"You think that Malcolm guy had any idea that the Governor's place wasn't actually haunted?" Sam asked a tense and overwrought Dean. "I think 'that Malcolm guy' is going to get an ass kicking the next time I see him is what I think." Dean had been getting more and more frustrated with every passing day since Cal had left which was understandable under the circumstances. "Mandy seems nice enough." Of course, Sam would think as much considering he hadn't been the object of her affections the entire time they'd been at the Governor's home. "Oh yeah. She's one in a million all right." _She_ had been frittering away their time by making passes at Dean and generally getting in their way. Dean was pretty positive she'd been perfectly aware that there hadn't been any real supernatural activity in her home. The way she waxed on about Malcolm it was becoming pretty clear she was distracting them to make him happy.

"She seem a little, I dunno, _lonely _to you?" If Sam was trying to be funny Dean couldn't see the humor in it. "Sam, she's been wasting our time for the last four days." It was all he could do not to punch the steering wheel. "We should be looking for Cal right now. I can't explain it, but she's in it up to her eyeballs, I can feel it in my bones." An acid-reflux-inducing gut instinct was tearing him up from the inside out.

"Okay, so we let the Governor down easy and hit the road." Sam was just as eager to get a lead on Cal's whereabouts. The whole situation was so out of character from what he'd seen of her over the past year, and there had been the call from Fran who had picked up the messages from their voice mail. Cal had left the equivalent of a full on goodbye as if she'd already known they wouldn't ever be seeing each other again.

Fran had been hysterical, ready to drop everything to head out to find her friend. It had taken Sam hours to talk her down and even then it had been Jason and Maggie who had been the deciding factors.

"What do you think she meant with that 'I'm sorry' Sam?" If anything it should have been the other way around, Dean should have been the one doing the apologizing. "I don't know Dean. You can ask her when we find her." Oh sure, provided they did find her and that when they did she was still breathing. And that was a thought he could have done without, along with every morbid image it brought to mind.

"Yeah, we've got to give _Mandy_ the shake off." It was way past time to get Mandy, the seventy year old governor with the flirtatiousness of a teenager off their backs. There was a grim determination to the set of his jaw as Dean pointed the Impala back toward the Governor's mansion. Sam glanced across curiously, wondering just what it was his brother had in mind that the real work hadn't yet accomplished. Dean's grin was just this side of crazy and didn't quite reach his eyes. "A Ouija board and some flashing lights should do it." They'd seen enough over the years to do a passable fake-out job, all they had to do was scare her. They had everything they needed in the trunk and Dean could keep Mandy busy while Sam played around with the wiring. Wouldn't take much, after that it wouldn't take all that much to convince her they'd made the thing go away. "You think we can be out of here by nightfall?" Sam asked as they pulled up to the gate. "Sammy, I think we can be outta here within the hour." And sure enough, they were.

* * *

It was getting hard to take stock of her own body. Lack of sleep had Cal thoughts going all fuzzy around the edges. She'd adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see the thin sliver of light around where the door was. At least, she assumed it was a door from the general shape of it. Her shoulder had been dislocated when she'd been slammed up against the wall by the spirit they'd let loose on her. Her ankle was probably twisted. Her elbows and knees were all torn up and covered in a twisted sort of road rash from being dragged across the floor. "You've been in better shape, Cal." She said out loud, having begun to talk to herself to try and save her sanity. So far it wasn't working.

She'd found the part of the door that she thought might be the hinges and had started working away at them with her fingers, hoping to pry them out. Worst case scenario she could use one to defend herself if anyone ever came in to the room, though she wasn't all that sure how. Poke at their eyes maybe? Best case scenario she could remove all three of the hinges and possibly pry open the door enough to squeeze out. Realistically neither of those things would happen, but Cal wasn't usually known for being realistic about her expectations. Specifically the ones she had for her own abilities and especially when sleep deprivation was an issue.

She'd tried to scream for Malcolm during one of those sessions she'd spent as a projectile toy. She'd shouted and yelled for him until her voice had given out but he hadn't answered her. He'd been so quiet for so long she wasn't even sure if he was alive anymore. There'd been some sort of scuffle somewhere beyond her door some time earlier and she figured they'd either moved him away somewhere else or he'd fought them so much that they'd finally had enough and got rid of him. The reprieve was almost worse than the constant attention. Too much time to think was rarely a good thing. There hadn't been a bang at her door or an unwanted visit in long enough to make her worry. Was she alone and stuck in this place with no way to ever get out? Had they left just to bring back one of her friends? What if the next voice she heard from down the hall was Fran's? Or worse, one of the kids? Maggie wouldn't be able to hold up against this. She'd loose her mind before she could say her own name.

"Caitlin?" Malcolm, sounding worse for wear, talking to her from the slot in the door by the floor. "Malcolm, Is that you?" What in the hell was going on? Was she hearing things? Was this another one of their games? "Sorry, I passed out. Needed a bit of time to heal enough to move again." There was a loud scraping sound, like someone was clawing their way up the door. Apparently Malcolm had been lying on the ground to talk to her because she was pretty sure he'd just used the door to get himself upright again.

"Move as far back from the door as you can, I'm breaking it down." And how exactly was he going to accomplish that with a metal door? She didn't have any time to wonder because he'd already started at beating it. Scuttling a little further back with every slam that reverberated from the door she flinched as the sound echoed of the walls and slammed into her pounding head. There was a moment of true fear as the first splinter of light hit her face, its brilliance sharp and painful to her sensitive eyes, and then relief. Right there, on the other side, was the outline of a familiar bicep just visible through the gash that had been made in the door. Two more good strong swings and it split in half vertically from very top to very bottom.

Cal crawled through the small opening that had been made; had to because when she tried to stand her legs let go. Her savior wasn't in much better shape either. Malcolm was sitting against the wall next to the broken door, apparently winded from the effort of getting the door open.

"How the hell did you manage to kick open a metal door like that?" Did he have some sort of superpower along with the whole living forever bit that he hadn't shared? "The door's made of wood, you tool." He laughed hoarsely at her, lifting a tired hand up to show her the axe he was holding. Oh. Well that explained a lot. Now on to the scarier question, where the hell was her so-called family?

"Where are they?" The count she'd taken when they'd arrived had been seven adults, two teenagers and six children ten and under. Two of those were barely toddlers. He turned and looked her right in the eye, more serious than she'd ever seen him. "Four dead, killed 'em myself." There was a drying blood trail leading down the white linoleum tiled hallway floor. That had been the scuffle she'd heard. "M'not sure where the others are. Looks like its dark out so if they still do things like they used to, the littler kids'll be abed the older ones responsible for them. As for their parents, I think I heard the blonde one say something about driving to Wichita for a hunt. Hard to say what was for show and what was real, though." Yeah. No kidding. Wow, suddenly Cal really needed a little human contact.

Crawling a little further, she shifted slowly to sitting next to the man who had got her into this mess in the first place. Resting her sore head on his warm, solid shoulder she sighed. "I… God, Malcolm, when things got so quiet I thought you were dead." Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her up against his side and held her loosely. "I told 'em if they hurt you, I would kill 'em." Yes. Yes he had. Nice to know he was the kind of guy who was good with the follow through.

"We need to get the heck out of Dodge." They didn't have long before one of the kids noticed something wasn't right. They were freaky little buggers, her cousins. Cal wasn't really sure how she felt about the lot of them, but it sure wasn't the warm fuzzies.

"Your car's a write off for now. They parked it up by the big house. We won't ever get to it without everyone realizing we're on the loose. I don't know about you, but I'm not up to taking them all on just yet." Yeah. Cal could relate. "On the way in, there were some older model cars. They were dirty and beaten to crap, like the work trucks back home. I think they use them for jobs. You think we could manage one of those?" It killed her to have to ask rather than just believe they could and move on that. Problem was that with these guys it was impossible to tell what was doable and what was impossible.

"If I can hotwire it I can drive it. You're looking pretty worse for wear there. You gonna be able to get over there on your own steam?" He looked doubtful she'd be able to lift her head off his shoulder, let alone walk out the half mile to the group of cars they were talking about. Looking down at herself she couldn't blame him. Her fingers were scratched up and bloody from working at the door hinges, the knees of her jeans were gone along with the first few layers of skin. Her left ankle was so swollen they'd probably have to cut the sock of her foot. Oh, and her right arm was hanging at a weird angle, probably because of the awkward way her shoulder had set itself when it had been slammed out of joint. Okay, so maybe she'd let this one go. He had good reason for asking.

"You're no beauty queen, yourself, cowboy." Admittedly, he looked a whole lot better than she did though he had more color to him. A black eye, a bright red gash down his cheek and a myriad variety of bruises across every inch of skin that were all kinds of different shades of purple and blue. All of them gifts from the insane side of the O'Sulivan clan. No signs of anything more serious though which struck Cal as strange considering how rough these guys had been. "Yeah, well, I heal quickly." Hm, she'd have to ask him to clarify that little tidbit of information later.

"Right. We're wasting time." He groaned, pushing himself clumsily to his feet and using the wall for leverage. "Can you stand?" Cal tried to push herself up the same way Malcolm had, she really did. Unfortunately, one graceless tumble sideways later there was no denying that she wasn't going to leave that place on her own steam.

Without giving her any kind of chance to argue, he scooped her up in his arms intent on carrying her out. It wasn't pretty, he was limping and she had to hold on tight because he wasn't all that steady, but it got the job done. Her pride almost couldn't take it, except that this guy was being so matter-of-fact about it. Like he rescued women all the time and carrying them around injured was just another part of the routine. Same old story, different day. Of course that didn't do anything to lessen the stinging of her injured pride.

"I wish we could drive my Mustang out of here." A mumbled curse as he helped her to buckle in the passenger seat of an old Chevrolet Corsica that had seen better days. Then a critique shot out at his preferred choice of getaway cars. "You figure the only red one in the bunch won't be a little conspicuous?" It was just a dig. They'd be ditching the car pretty quickly so the color wouldn't matter much in the end, but she felt a little better giving him a hard time. "You're just upset because we've got to leave all your toys behind." He had her there.

"My favorite knives and my ass kicking boots are in that car." And along with them were her cell phone, all of her id, her clothes and her everything else in the world that was of any kind of value. "We'll get them back." He sounded so sure, she could almost believe him.

"Where are we going to go?" There wasn't a place on earth she'd ever rested her head that these people hadn't heard of. Everything they needed to find those places was in her car. Add to that the fact that Malcolm hadn't been kidding when he'd told her they were well connected and they were screwed. "The farm's out, it'll be the first place they look since you and your dad spent so much time there. Your place in New York is out too because it's been your go-to place for so long. They'll be watching Harvelle's and Bobby's in case we go looking for help. For all we know they could've staged this whole escape hoping to follow us to what they want." Well, way to go painting the future in six different shades of hopeless there, buddy.

"That's not an answer." She wasn't beat up enough to pass up calling him on it. Malcolm just scowled out at the dirt road as he barely maneuvered the Corsica over it. "I've got a place we can go to, just trust me okay?" Yeah, sure, trust him. "Right, because that went so well the first time eh?" Cal wasn't likely to ever forget that dark, tiny room of horrors or the lessons she'd learned there. The very first one being that trusting Malcolm had the occasional side-effect of tossing her into painful, impossible situations.

To Malcolm's credit, he'd warned her about what she was getting into before they'd set out. There hadn't been much choice as to her participation, but he'd made sure she was walking in with her eyes wide open. He could have argued that fact when she called him out for being untrustworthy. He could've also pointed out that he was the one who'd got them the hell out of there. But he didn't. What Malcolm _did_ do was hand her a cell phone, and lord only knew where he'd picked it up from. "Call your people and warn them. Your friend, with the kids? Tell her to keep them home and not let them out of her sight." He leveled her with a look that reminded her, as if she'd needed it, of just what kind of people they were dealing with. "And call the Winchesters." Ominous words that sent chills down her spine and across her skin; for once she didn't argue or toss that sass around. The most sobering thought hit her hard. Her worst nightmare was coming true, work was following her home and putting everyone that mattered in danger.

There were any number of calls to make but in the end she only made the one. "Hello?" Just the sound of his voice brought back the memory of gentle hands working out a mess of tangled hair. "Sam. There isn't much time." In the background was the hungry growl of the Impala's engine and it made her want to cry all over again. All she wanted was to be stretched out across its back seat. "Is that her? Where is she?" Dean, sounding absolutely frantic, overshadowed everything else. Sam's insistent voice was in her ear. "What do you mean? What's going on?" Deep breath, girl, you can do this. "You need to go north, Fran and the kids are gonna need you. It's my…" and here she choked on the word 'family' because these people were anything but. "Keep Maggie and Jason in the house, don't let them out of your sight. Don't let anyone in, not for anyone or anything. These people, they could be kids, teenagers or adults. Some of them'll look a bit like me. Better to just hunker down behind everything you've got until…" Until when? Until they get a clue as to how to stop these monsters? She honestly didn't know. "Just tell me you'll keep them safe, Sam. Please?" She hated the pleading note to her voice and the way it made Sam respond. "Yeah Cal, you know I will." The gentleness in his voice did nothing to hide the fact that she'd scared him. Fear was good. It would keep him sharp, on his toes and hopefully alive.

He didn't hang up but he did bark out an order to Dean, who didn't sound too happy to be left out of the loop even just for now. "Dean, dude, pull in here." "What? Why?" "I'll explain in a sec, just _do _it." The angry squeal of tires on pavement then the crunch of the car slowing to a stop; Cal closed her eyes and just enjoyed the familiar sounds for a moment. She'd earned the right to such a tiny indulgence. Sam's voice came back too soon and not soon enough.

"I'm going to hand you to Dean. Promise me you'll talk to him?" Yup, she'd scared the daylights out of the poor guy. Damned if she felt bad about it, though. If she was terrified, there was no reason they shouldn't be, especially considering the six shades of hell that had been unleashed on them all. "That was the plan." She assured him. Sam sighed and then was replaced with harsh concern and heavy breathing. "Where are you? What's happening? Are you okay?" Behind closed eyelids she could trace the worry lines across Dean's forehead. "I've been better." She'd wanted it to come out on a laugh, but it came out a whine instead because of the pain. "You sound like hell, Cal. Stay where you are. I'm coming to you. Tell me where I'm going?"

"Dean, listen okay? I need you to call Ash. Tell him Malcolm's says we've got trouble. He'll know what to do." Malcolm had made arrangements, just in case. "Yeah, okay. I can do that while I drive. Where do I find you?" Again with that question, the one she didn't have an answer to. Didn't he understand there were more important things to get done first? "You need to call Bobby too. He's got the books they're after. They don't know it, but that won't stop them from going there. He's too obvious. They'll think that I lent them to him for safe keeping, and they'll be right." She was becoming less and less coherent, exhaustion bringing back the dark that was even now pulling her back down.

"Hey, _Cal_! Stay with me here. You're not making a whole hell of a lot of sense. Who's 'they'? What books?" But it was no use, she was falling asleep on him and there wasn't a thing either one of them could do to stop it. "Miss you." Cal's final words a weak voiced mumble as she drifted off.

Malcolm swore as the car swerved wildly when he reached over to catch the phone as it fell from her shoulder. _Not exactly at the top of your game, old man. _Dean was still shouting into the phone trying desperately to wake Cal up, scared and angry at being made to feel helpless. It wasn't that Malcolm blamed him but this wasn't really the most opportune time for a freak out. "Whoa, kid, calm down would ya?" And if he was short on patience he figured he was entitled to be, all things considered.

"I thought you said you were gonna keep her safe?" An accusation loaded with meaning, Dean was beyond angry. The unspoken message that he was going to make Malcolm pay for whatever was wrong with Cal this time. "Yeah, well, I hadn't counted on the level of insanity of these folks being worse that it was twenty years ago." Honestly, he hadn't thought it possible to be crazier than when he'd dealt with them last. "Look, we're somewhere in Maine. Don't ask, it's a long story and I'm too busy running right now to tell it. How close are you?"

"New York, we were going to check out O'Leary's and Cal's apartment to see if we could figure out where to find you." If there was reproach in Dean's tone, Malcolm chose to ignore it.

"We're in Maine right now. I can be in Portsmouth in three hours. Can you meet us there?" He wasn't really asking, not when Dean had made it very clear that he was going to find them regardless.

"Yeah. I'll be there." The Impala's engine revved as if to punctuate how badly Dean wanted to get moving. "Good. Airport parking lot, three hours. Oh, and Dean? Fair warning, she's in pretty rough shape." And because he knew exactly what those words would do to Dean's already protective streak for Cal, Malcolm hung up. He'd need to focus on the road anyway if he was going to get them to Portsmouth without crashing.

Meanwhile back in the random shopping mall parking lot, Sam was busy stealing a soccer mom van and loading his gear into the backseat. Dean had parked just long enough to get an explanation before peeling off toward New Hampshire. Sam could take care of himself. After talking to Malcolm, Dean was pretty sure Cal was a different story entirely.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

_I Run to You  
_

Dean drove into the parking lot like a bat out of hell, screeching to a halt right in front of the rust red Corsica and boxing it in. There was no freakin' way Malcolm was going to just drive off, if that's what he'd had in mind. The guy had a thing or two coming to him and Dean was damned well going to be the one dishing them out.

He could see Cal sitting awkwardly in the passenger seat, strap still secured over her shoulder. From where he sat it was clear she was pale and gaunt, covered in bruises and breathing heavily. The shoulder not covered in a seat belt was at a weird angle and _sunuva...!_ Dean knew why. That was a dislocated shoulder if he'd ever seen one.

Malcolm was just opening the driver's side door and for all intents and purposes the guy was fine. Not a bump, a bruise, a cut… _nothing. _He hadn't been touched. The impossible contrast between the two set Dean off. He was out of the car and rushing at Malcolm, swinging his fists and connecting with a perfect cheek bone. Malcolm's head snapped back and Dean shoved at his chest so he fell back onto the uneven pavement. He'd have started kicking with the steel toe boots he was wearing if it wasn't for the moan that came from the other side of the Corsica. _Cal. _Looking broken in ways he'd never seen in her before.

Dean was unbuckling her belt as carefully as possible. It still hurt enough to have tears swimming around in her big blue eyes. She was a trooper but she couldn't hold it in and it was pushing all kinds of buttons. "Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. Let's get you out of here, huh?" He wouldn't be able to put that shoulder back into place until they'd iced it. Hard to say how long would be long enough to bring down some of the swelling. "I've got something cold for that shoulder in the trunk. Something for the pain too." He didn't bother trying to maneuver her out of the car so she could walk, he'd already made up his mind to lift her out. The pitiful whine she couldn't repress as he slid an arm behind her back broke his heart but he lifted her all the same. When he cradled her in against his chest and she gripped his neck with her good arm like she was afraid someone would try to rip her away from him; Dean knew he was going to kill whoever had touched her. The jury was still out on whether Malcolm was one of those people.

"She's going to be okay, Dean. You know that right?" Malcolm was using his best, most reasonable tone to bring Dean back down to earth for a minute. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect. "What kind of an idiot do you have to be to just leave a shoulder out of its socket like this, anyway?" Dean spat out, making sure to let Malcolm know just how negligent he'd been. as he set Cal down with her legs hanging out of his car. There was something in the way Cal tried to hide an uncomfortable grunt as he set her down with her legs hanging out the side of his car that made Dean take a closer look. If anyone knew how important it was to take proper stock of her injuries, it was him.

"What happened to your knees, Cal?" They were all scraped up and gritty. Oh God, and_ that ankle_. It was a miracle there was any circulation going on there at all. Her foot was so swollen that her sock had split at the toe and heel seams. "Hang on, let me just…" Pulling his Bowie knife out from under the seat he cut the white cotton right off. There would be other socks, he wasn't going to chance the possibility that she loose a foot.

"Did you know about this? I know she's pretty good at hiding stuff when she gets it in her mind to but how could you miss something like this?" The other foot looked okay but there was no way to tell how bad the knees were until they could get them cleaned up. "Hey, I wasn't in any better shape than her when we got away alright?" No. Not alright. Not even a little alright. No matter how convincingly Malcolm tried to defend himself, Dean wasn't buying it. "Oh _sure_ you were. You know, from where I'm standing it looks more like you let a girl fight your battles and didn't bother to step up when she got in over her head. Cal's all beaten to hell and you? You don't have a scratch. And now you want me to believe you were as busted up as she is just a few hours ago? Tell me, in my shoes what would you be thinking right about now?" Wisely Malcolm kept his answer to himself.

A minute of rummaging around in the trunk and he was strapping an ice pack to Cal's shoulder, securing it with one of his belts. Another ice pack was wrapped around her ankle, this one tied in place with one of his wool sock. Only then did Malcolm speak again. "Okay, look. I'm only taking this crap from you long enough to get Caitlin somewhere safe where she can get better. The minute she's set, though, you and I are going to have to have a talk. You got me?" Oh, that was just fantastic. He was being told by the cowardly cowboy. This would have been funny if Cal hadn't been in such terrible shape.

"Yeah, whatever. Make yourself useful and get her stuff from the other car, would ya?" They'd need a change of clothes for her sooner rather than later. "There's nothing in the car. We had to leave her Mustang and everything in it behind, and before you get all judgy why don't you wait for Cal's side of things eh?" Right. Pick your battles Dean. "So whoever these 'they' people are, 'they' have everything? Her car, her passport, her clothes, her gear, all of it?" Perfect. It just kept getting better and better, didn't it? "Unfortunately yeah. Mine too, if it's any consolation." Yeah, no. No, it really wasn't any consolation at all.

"How long can we hang around in town here before it gets dangerous?" A good question, the answer for which would be the deciding factor for where they'd be bunking down for the night. 'We've already been here too long." Right. Well, it was that kind of night after all."Okay, help me shift her around so that shoulder doesn't get too jostled while I drive. I'll prop her foot up on my leg to help the swelling go down." How far would they have to go to be able to lay low? Their usual spots would be too obvious if Cal was worried that these people who were after her were going to be going after her friends. Bobby's was out and Harvelle's too since Cal had asked him to send along the warnings earlier.

One look over at her ashen complexion and Dean just knew Cal wouldn't be traveling far. Definitely not far enough to get them in the clear. Where the hell were they going to go?

"I've got some friends in Penacook, about an hour's drive from here." Malcolm, the hero, swooping in with a place to hide just in the nick of time. "Can we trust 'em?" And wasn't that just the question of the hour? "Honestly? After what we've just been through I'm not even sure I trust _you_ Dean. No offense. It is the best place for Cal, though. My friends are healers, so whatever she needs they're likely to have on hand." Alright then, Penacook it would be, at least for now. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the way things went down." And at this point, ballsy as he'd been to even try apologizing, Malcolm was just lucky that Dean was already sitting behind the wheel. Unwilling to jar Cal's foot, which was resting on his thigh Dean closed his eyes against the rage that was simmering too close to the surface instead of pounding him to a pulp. "Just. Shut. Up. Get in the back and just don't say _anything_. You hear me?" The idiot was going to be lucky to live through the night at the rate he was going.

Dean drove like he'd never done before during that short trip into Penacook. Fast and smooth, avoiding as many potholes and bumps on the asphalt as was humanly possible. All the while his shoulders ached from the tension of keeping his temper under control. The ice had been a good move. Halfway to Malcolm's friends place Cal was able to start moving it again. Dean stopped as soon as he noticed the way she kept shifting around restlessly, trying to adjust it back into its socket without calling too much attention to herself. She would try to do it alone. "Oh no you don't."With one hand on the less damaged part of her leg, he stilled her with a look. "You're letting me get a look at that before you make it worse."

It was a lot awkward and even more painful, shifting around all over again until Dean had her in a position that gave them enough room to work with. They were on the side of the road, Dean leaning into the passenger side to shield Cal from the cool night air and any possible prying eyes from the odd passing car. "Please, don't touch it unless you have to, okay?" A whispered plea. "I'll do my best, sweetheart." Followed by a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. Lips clamped tightly between her teeth she nodded, the tears dripping from her eyes going unacknowledged for the sake of whatever was left of her pride. "I'm going to have to cut your shirt sleeve to see what's going on under there." He wasn't asking. Another curt nod from Cal, the only go ahead he was going to get.

The skin was distorted and purple but the outline of her bone and shoulder joint were clear. "Okay, it's looking pretty good considering." Eyes closed, her grimace spoke volumes. "You're a shitty liar Dean." So much for sugar coating it, he should have known better anyway. "Okay, it looks like hell but I think it'll slide right back into joint. You want to ice it some more or do it now?" Experience begged that he ask at all. Better she have a choice. "Ugh, I'm dying here Dean! Just get it over with, would you?" This wasn't going to be pretty.

It took three tries and Malcolm's help holding her upper arm still before it finally slid home. The pain was so intense and the relief so immediate that Dean had to rush to bend her forward and out of the car so she could retch the shock of it out. When her stomach finally stopped heaving Dean gently folded her arm across her chest, pulling her other hand around to hold it in place. "Can you keep that still, Cal? I need a minute to get something to sling that up with." She barely moved but Malcolm nodded at him. "I've got this." He assured them, not that Dean believed it but there wasn't much choice at the moment.

Her sling was made of one of Dean's old t-shirts that he tore and knotted himself. He covered her in one of his plaid shirts to keep her warm and comfortable. She spent the rest of the ride sipping at bottled water and watching Dean as he drove from under hooded lids. If she hadn't been so broken and he so worried it might have been a pleasant drive. As it was, neither dared speak for fear of breaking the momentary reprieve.

Cal cried a lot that night and Dean, well, Dean was amazing. There was a bath ready for her when they arrived and she locked herself in the bathroom to take it. Twenty minutes later she called out for Dean. He found her sitting on the edge of the toilet lid, crouched inward with tears streaming down her face. "I…" but she didn't need to explain that she needed help. There wasn't any need for even a cursory "What do you need?" from Dean.

"You realize it's a whole lot easier to do this for you than it ever was for Sam, right?" He joked as they got her bathed and dressed in a pair of his old boxers and another of his t-shirts. "I'm also a whole lot smaller than he is, so don't be too impressed eh?" Maybe she was bouncing back after all, even though the banter was tired and flat. It was a good sign that she was even trying, considering how quiet she'd been. Still, Dean wouldn't let her out of his sight for fear she'd trip or fall or hurt herself again without meaning to. Not a moment went by that he wasn't doting on her and she just let him. From lathering the cooling salve on her knees and elbows, to tying up a proper sling with a retrofitted bed sheet their Malcolm's friend offered up for the purpose. He kept waiting for her to fight him off or snark at him but it never came. There wasn't even much conversation about where they'd be staying the night. Probably because Cal already knew where she wanted to be.

"We can't stay here tonight Dean. They'll be looking for us." She wasn't going to feel safe unless they were out in the car, driving. Never mind that the Impala was pretty easily recognizable. Cal wanted to be moving and she wasn't going to rest until she was sure they were doing just that. "I'm not moving you tonight. You need a bed. You need some food. You need to rest. Sitting shotgun or even lying in the backseat with your foot up, isn't going to do you any good Cal. You know that." He tried to reason with her, tried to hide his exasperation; the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. She'd been through enough already and he knew how fragile she could get when she was hurt and feeling helpless. But Cal wouldn't let it go.

"You don't have to carry me if that's what the problem is. I can walk or Malcolm can help me out to the car." Right, because that was the problem here. Why'd she have to throw in that bit about Malcolm, anyway? The guy was definitely not his favorite person just then. "I'll take the backseat. We could use a couple of pillows to cushion my shoulder and prop up my ankle. We can do this." If she saw his skeptical look she let it slide, drifting off into her own head for a minute. The way her eyes went all soft and pleading while she was staring into space worried him. Fear tightened the lines around her mouth, turning the soft edges where lips met dimples downward into a frown. When she came back to them, her stubbornness came back too. "We _are _doing this Dean. I don't care if I have to drive the damned car myself." Okay. She-Ra had spoken. They were hitting the road.

"At least have a bite to eat first. You look like you haven't eaten in days." He couldn't have known how right he was or how desperate the situation had been. "We'll grab something at drive through. I need to get out of here Dean. Please?" Malcolm was doing the strong, silent type thing in the corner. He didn't bother weighing in on either side but once Cal had made up her mind he was all about helping to make it happen. "I'll take some pillows and a blanket out to your car if you can manage her?" Why the hell were they keeping this guy around anyway? Good question. Maybe he ought to ask Cal that.

"Yeah. Okay. We'll be out in a minute." A minute alone with Cal out of earshot was just what the doctor ordered. There were questions that needed answering, things that needed to be said. So they sat on the couch, inches away from each other, watching Malcolm and their hosts gather things up. Dean didn't look her way until they were alone together and when he did he was unreadable.

"Why is this guy even coming with us?" Eyes boring into hers, demanding to know exactly what was going on in that complex mind of hers. Before he went any further with any of this Dean needed to know that Cal not only wanted Malcolm along but that she trusted him. There was no room for doubt. Dean sure wasn't going to trust the guy, but he'd tolerate him if Cal felt she needed him around.

Her expression had become shuttered. She was internalizing, choosing to hide behind all those walls that had gone back up that day he'd left her. They'd only been insulated by whatever the hell it was that had happened to her over the last five days. "They're after him too, Dean." Her vague answer was devoid of any sound reasoning and it left him wanting to push for details. "So, why doesn't he hole up with Bobby? We could head up across the border and man the fort with Sam. Or we could fall off the grid completely. I could park my car somewhere and we could just disappear until you've healed up." It said an awful lot that he bothered to even suggest running and hiding. If his willingness to park the Impala didn't get her attention, nothing would.

"I'm not positive they'll go after Bobby, or anyone, until they're sure we can't be found. They're careful and they don't like calling attention to themselves or I'd have known they exist before now." There it was again, the 'they' that as of yet remained undefined. "If we show up at Bobby's, at Fran's, at the farm or even Harvelle's they'll move in hard and fast and they won't care who gets hurt. If we stay away we buy some time." There was a calm to her voice that belied the fidgeting of her good hand. "Maybe." Dean reminded her grimly. "Hopefully." God, she sounded like she needed the hope. "Fine. I'll go along with it for now." The last thing he wanted was to step into a fight when Cal was vulnerable. For that reason, and that reason alone, he went along with it. But there was something he wouldn't budge on. "One last thing, and this is non-negotiable. I need to know who these 'they' people are."

That one question was enough to shut her down completely. It was too soon, she couldn't even acknowledge the link between the people she was afraid of and her father. "I… I can't Dean. I just, I _can't_." There was something about the way she said it that was just so completely broken that he knew he had to let it go, at least for the time being. Maybe he could get something out of Malcolm while Cal slept. As if conjured by mere thought, the massive man appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay in here?" He was taking in Cal's renewed pallor with a calculated interest, as if weighing what could have happened in the minutes he'd been out of earshot. "Yeah. I'm ready to go." Cal raised her arms to Malcolm, making it clear that if anyone was helping her it was going to be him.

Well, hell. Dean didn't need any more of a clue than that, did he?


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

_Your Broken Pieces, Like Shards of Glass, Cut Me to the Bone._

To say Cal slept would have been a gross overstatement. She dozed, jarring awake at every little sound. She dreamed horrible nightmares that always ended in rivulets of tears or short, heart stopping shrieks which inevitably woke her too. She was still in too much pain for sleep to have any type of firm hold on her and maybe it was better that way, considering how she was coping. Dean would've hated the thought of her stuck inside her own head, reliving whatever the hell it was that had affected her so deeply, unable to wake and escape it. As it was the backseat wasn't big enough to contain her brokenness.

Malcolm occupied passenger seat in silence for the first little while. It wasn't in any way peaceful or nice like when Sam used to sit there. Every little sound that came from the back made him jump. Every set of headlights in the rear-view mirror etched lines of concern in his face. There was no plan and except for Malcolm no one in the car had any idea of what they were facing. They were at a severe and dangerous disadvantage and yet he couldn't find it within himself to swallow his pride enough to speak and break the silence.

Maybe it was just that he was pretty sure Dean would put his best effort into trying to kill him once he _did_ start talking. In his place, Malcolm would surely be of a mind to, so there was no reason to blame Dean for entertaining the idea. Unfortunately there had been enough of that over the past week. Malcolm wasn't really all that keen to go there again, for any reason.

Sam called sometime after they crossed over from New Hampshire into New York State. He had fairly good news, for the moment. Fran and the kids were scared but so far there had been no obvious signs of trouble. Dean glanced at the backseat through the rear-view mirror and Malcolm could see the slightest bit of relief pass over his features. He smiled when Dean told Sam that maybe Cal had been on to something with this buying time idea she'd had.

On his side of the car, Dean was engrossed in the conversation he was having with his brother.

"Nothing's changed up here, Dean. Bobby hasn't seen anything and Ellen says Ash has been holed up with his computer for hours now. I don't know, maybe Cal was wrong." He looked back at the woman cocooned in blankets behind him. No, Cal was scared. They couldn't pretend this away, she wasn't wrong. He would have told his brother as much but Malcolm chose that moment to finally open his mouth.

"Tell him it's too late to look out for them in town. They would have done their digging around months ago; this has been in the works a long time. There's no telling who might be in on this now." Great, add 'eavesdropping' to the increasingly long list of things Dean couldn't stand about the guy. Ignoring the man next to him, he relayed what he'd just learned. "Yeah, I don't think it's a good idea to let our guard down just yet. Cal's _scared _Sam and Malcolm seems to think that whatever this is, it's been a while in the making. We can't trust anyone but each other with this." And even that much was sketchy considering who was feeding them the infornation. Sam was right there with him too. "So, we're trusting him now?" You couldn't miss the skepticism and Dean wasn't any happier than Sam about it either.

"I don't think we've got much choice. Cal's in pretty bad shape and she won't go anywhere without him." Go figure that one out. "Oh." Sam's surprise pretty much summed it up. There wasn't much more that could be said with the man of the hour sitting shotgun. They couldn't exactly talk freely with Malcolm sitting less than a foot away and listening to every word. So they wrapped it up with Sam promising to hold up their end of things and Dean promising to call as soon as they'd found a place to lay low for a while. In the meantime, there was some business that needed to be dealt with.

Now, Dean had it in mind pretty much from the moment he'd set eyes on Cal again in the airport parking lot that he and Malcolm were going to be having a bit of a 'chat'. The hope had been that he could get the man alone but since Cal wasn't doing that well he'd had to wait. That was about to change.

She was sleeping for now, deep even breathing hinting at a moment of peace in the darkness. The first one since they'd hit the road, Dean knew. No better time to clear the air and do what needed to be done. There might not be another opportunity for a while, judging by the way the night had gone already.

Malcolm resigned himself to the inevitable when Dean began pulling the car over to the shoulder of the deserted interstate. They both knew it would eventually come to this. The time had come to get it out of the way. He waited until the car was at a complete stop and then for Dean to set the hand break just for good measure. When Dean's eyes fell on him, boring holes into the side of the other man's head, Malcolm finally spoke. "What do you want to know?" _Time to face those demons, old man._ But Dean didn't speak. Shaking his head, he glanced back at Cal and gestured for them to take the conversation outside. Great, the odds just went up that things would come to blows.

They faced each other in the glow of the Impala's headlights, probably because Dean wanted to be sure Cal would know where they were if, or more likely _when_, she woke again. There was always the possibility that Dean just wanted to see what he was hitting.

"You've got ten seconds to try and explain away why in the hell _she's_ so broken and you're _not._" To call attention to the torn, filthy state of his clothes wouldn't do Malcolm any good. Dean already had it in mind he was going to let his fists fly. "Go ahead. Get it over with." Malcolm gave him permission to do exactly what he'd been itching to do. "What?" And took Dean completely by surprise.

"Hit me, Dean. Just do it." It was time for a little show and tell. "Right in the face, man, and don't hold back. Or better yet, grab that knife from under your seat. Yeah. That'll work better." It was the excitement in the older man's voice that got to him. Suddenly Dean Winchester wasn't so sure of himself. In fact the look he gave Malcolm said that he was pretty sure the man was insane. Did that stop Dean from resorting to violence? Hell no! Things had already gone too far to stop now.

Before Malcolm even saw it coming Dean had landed his fist, knuckles first, right smack in the middle of the man's face. Malcolm stumbled backward and landed in an inch of water on his ass in the grassy ditch a foot and a half away with a bleeding broken nose.

"Good! That's perfect." Now Dean could see first hand why it was Malcolm wasn't broken. Pulling himself up out of the ditch he held up a hand to stop Dean from going at him again and pointed at his face. "Now _watch_."

It wouldn't take very long, the healing process had already begun. His body was already in overdrive after everything he'd been through over the last five days. This broken nose was righting itself even faster than it normally would. The blood that had been gushing out of his nostrils stopped as if someone had turned the knob on a faucet, without having to even be touched. The bone righted itself, the tiny split of skin on the bridge where Dean's fist had made contact closed itself up and disappeared. A bruise appeared in its place, Dean's eyes going wide as he watched it fade.

"_What_ was _that_?" For a normally over-confident guy, the way Dean's voice cracked suspiciously like a teenager's was a pretty good indication that he was about to lose his cool.

"_That_ is the reason I've made it through more than six centuries." Still, the younger man was skeptical. "Witchcraft?" Apparently Dean figured there'd been time to cast some kind of healing spell in the moment and a half he'd spent in the ditch. "Nope." This gift of his had never taken that much effort, though there was a possibility it could have started with witchcraft. "Crossroads deal? You play some tonsil hockey with a demon and get yourself some immortality?" Well it was a realistic enough suspicion considering the well known Winchester family issues. "Nuh-unh." But wrong again. "What then? How?" Dean was out of guesses. Unfortunately Malcolm didn't have any kind of satisfying answer. "Don't know. Back in my twenties the Black Plague swept through my village (and all of Europe), I got sick and died. Two days later I started breathing again and I haven't stopped since." He hadn't aged either, but Dean didn't need to be told what he could see with his own eyes.

"So, you can't die and you've got some freaky Wolverine-like healing powers?" Yep, Dean was definitely looking just a little freaked out. "Pretty much. If I'm really banged up I've got to be unconscious for the healing to happen and if that's the case my body just sort of shuts down on me. They'd been wailing on me for days so when I finally made my move it was just too much. I blacked out in the hallway before I could break Cal out of that closet. It didn't do much good but it got me enough strength to hack the door open with an axe, carry her out to a car and then drive us to the airport where we met you. After we got to there I passed out again, probably from internal hemorrhaging. That's why I look okay. Can't be sure but I think one of my kidneys was ruptured. Normally it's a pretty unmistakable pain, but there was so much of it all over the place it was hard to focus enough to be sure."

"And you drove through Maine and into New Hampshire for _hours_ like that?" He didn't look as impressed as Malcolm would have expected. Even after watching the broken nose heal up Dean was dishing out a heavy dose of skepticism.

"Had to. I killed four of them trying to get to Cal so we could get the hell out of there." No need to explain there. Just looking at Cal was enough to get the picture. "These folks are a vengeful people that know how to hold a grudge. You can bet the second they find the bodies all bets will be off. They lay their hands on us and they'll make us wish we were never born." Well that wasn't ominous at all, and there was that god_damned _'they' again! This time Dean was going to get a straight answer as to who in the hell they were dealing with here.

"Would you please just freaking explain to me who in the hell these 'they' people are supposed to be?" This was the first time Malcolm had been genuinely surprised by anything Dean had said or done and it took him aback.

"Cal didn't tell you?" The disbelief spoke volumes. Cal knew alright and Malcolm knew for sure that she did too. Yet neither of them had felt the need to clue Dean in on any of it.

"You want me to break your nose again? Enough with the bull, just spill it already" Dean had clearly had enough of being strung along. It was time for answers and he wasn't going to go messing around about it either.

"_They _are O'Sulivan's, the lot of 'em. They're her kin, Dean. It's her family who did this to us." If Malcolm hadn't been so stone-faced serious it could've been some totally screwed up joke. As it was it was hard to grasp that Cal had any family left, let alone that they would be all kinds of crazy.

Dean wanted nothing more than to deny it, if only to save her from the truth. "That's impossible. Her parents are dead. She's the only one left." He knew an awful lot about her history. The O'Sulivan family journals had always been kept in her father's office in the barn at the farm, to be used as reference material whenever the need arose. They'd skimmed through them often enough that if there was other family out there, they'd have known about it. As far as anyone knew, Cal was the only living O'Sulivan left.

"Her grandfather had a brother. He had kids, they had kids, I'm sure you've had the talk. Birds and bees and all that." Oh, ha ha! A comedian. Just what they needed.

"Okay, let's say I'm buying into the whole 'long lost family of insane freaks' story. What's the deal? They've left her alone her whole life, right? So what do they want so bad they have to come after her now?" This was the important question. Whatever it was, they might be able to use it as leverage to keep Cal safe from these idiots, preferably for the whole _rest_ of her life.

"Look, Dean, there's an awful lot of history hash out and not nearly enough time to do it now. What I can tell you quickly is that when Cal's grandfather died her father hid the massive collection of books they had. We're talking reference books, family journals, Bibles and religious material; the whole nine yards. Until recently the rest of the family had been under the impression the books had been burnt to ash when Jake cremated his father."

"Now they know he didn't and they think Cal has them, because she does." Uh oh, Dean really didn't like where this was going.

"Yeah." Suddenly the weight of the world settled itself right between his shoulder blades.

"How do I know you weren't the one to tell them?" Trust was still an issue here. Malcolm had been the one to cut them out of the whole thing, after all. If he hadn't, things probably would've gone a lot differently over the last four days.

"Would Cal be asking for my help so readily if I was?" A fair point. The Cal O'Sulivan they all knew and loved would've been on the war path.

"She'd be trying to kick your ass, broken or not." And she wouldn't give him a second to recover and heal either.

Cal was tossing restlessly in her sleep again, moaning so that they could hear her through the closed windows and the rumble of the idling engine. They didn't have much time left. "Okay. I'll go along with this for now." Regardless of his own personal feelings about the guy, Dean could see the merit in having an ally that was able bodied along for the ride. Not to mention that Malcolm knew the whole story. More time with the guy meant getting the chance to drill him for information. Win-win as far as Dean was concerned.

"Dean? What are you guys doing out there?" A groggy Cal called out to them with a raw voice. Their time was up.

"Needed to stretch my legs." "Nature called." The men answered simultaneously. Neither sounded too convincing, and they were well aware of it.

"Tell me there's a plan." Dean whispered as they turned back toward the car.

"Not yet but I do have someplace for us to hide out until she gets better." Well that was about the only comforting thing the guy had said all night.

"Alright, good. Let's go then." The sooner they holed up, the better.

"You're not going to like it." And there was that ominous tone again. Damned if Dean was going to let it get to him though.

"Don't care. Let's just get there and worry about the rest after that." It seemed like the best course to take; one thing at a time.

"Probably better if I drive." Although it made sense since Malcolm was the one who knew where they were going, Dean was most definitely not on board with the direction this was taking.

"Not a chance in hell, dude."

"Do we have another ice pack?" Cal interrupted the impending argument just in time. "My ankle is swelling up again and I don't think keeping it raised is going to be enough."

"I don't like the sound of that Cal. You mind if I take a look?" And it sucked to have to ask permission but at this point they were all pretty sure she needed the courtesy.

"I guess." She just looked so _lost_. Those blue eyes had become haunted, not quite Cal because she still looked so scared and Dean knew at that exact moment that he was _totally_ screwed.

"Hey!" He called out to get Malcolm's attention before tossing the car keys at him. "I'm trusting you." A warning over the hood of the car accompanied by a very meaningful look that somehow conveys that Dean'll find a way to snuff out the immortality in the guy if he breaks that trust.

"Just remember you said that when we get where we're going, alright?"

Dean already didn't like it; already regretted giving him that trust. There wasn't much to do about it now.

Pulling open the back door on the driver's side where Cal's feet were propped up he leaned in and just barely touched her toes with the tips of his fingers. "Lift those puppies up, She-Ra. I'm sliding in." For the first time since childhood when his father had been the Impala's only driver Dean climbed in to the backseat uninjured. He could only hope Cal got the significance. It wasn't likely to ever happen again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_Tried to Run but my Legs Were Numb._

Four days isn't such a very long time. Less than a week. This past year she'd have considered it nothing more than just long enough for a good dye job to set properly and get the right tint. Before she'd met the Winchesters she'd have said it was just short enough to have a good time with someone new without things becoming too serious. Four days used to be her limit before moving on. But that was before.

Cal had been through hell before. She'd been chased by psycho vampires. She'd survived a month long night in the Canadian tundra hiding out in an igloo with an Inuit Shaman. She'd survived the death of both her parents and the kind of heartbreak that comes once in a lifetime.

In her many years of hunting she'd lost fights, lost teeth, watched lives being lost unnecessarily because she couldn't move fast enough to save them. There were so many different times that she should have been broken. A girl had to stay strong though, and she was just stubborn enough to refuse to budge.

So, why then, had four days in that damned closet done the job? How had she managed to let herself be shattered so completely by a stupid out-of-control spirit, an empty stomach and a little exhaustion? If she wasn't so damned sad, right to her core, she'd have been really pissed off with herself. Why couldn't she just get mad? She should've been furious a million times over. Dean had decked Malcolm in that parking lot. She watched him break the guy's nose and toss him in the ditch not twenty minutes past, half asleep and aching in the backseat of his Impala. The Cal everyone knew would've hauled her sorry behind off of that leather upholstery and marched her butt out there to put the man in his place. But no, she'd just stayed put and watched as things played out.

Once upon a time (try even just four days ago) Cal would've been thoroughly insulted to hear two guys talking over her 'situation' and sharing notes on how she'd become so injured and broken, inside and out. Right then, she just couldn't muster up the energy to care. Was it too much to hope for that a little sleep would be enough to set things to rights?  
Of course it was. When had things ever come easy for Cal freakin' O'Sulivan? And, good Lord, but she didn't even want to own up to the name anymore. _Look what you've let them do to you, you little fool. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off already._ But she wasn't listening to that inner voice anymore. She'd shut the damned thing off and wanted nothing to do with it. All that mattered was that Dean and Malcolm were there and that she could sleep safely enough to escape the pain for a while. The nightmares sucked but there was some small measure of relief in waking and escaping them. Just like there was some small measure of relief in falling asleep and not being able to feel for a little while. That's what her life had become, waiting out the pain until those short moments of relief could be had. _Pathetic, girl. Just pathetic. _And yet it was what it was.

"Tell me there's a plan." The front doors of the car were wide open and Dean was shooting the question over the roof at Malcolm. It wasn't every day that Winchester took direction. "Not yet but I do know a place..." But Cal stopped listening when cracked an eye open and got a good look at the foot she'd propped up. It had swelled up again. As if the pain had just been waiting for her to see what was going on to kick in properly, her vision started to white out around the edges. She might have spoken to tell the guys something was wrong but presence of mind was an issue so she couldn't be sure.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Dean got in the backseat, buckled in and propped her foot up on the pillow in his lap. "Hang in there, Cal. We'll get you fixed up soon, you'll see." Careful not to touch her foot he let his hand rest on her calf, just under the knee. Maybe the human contact was all she'd been waiting for. Maybe it was the reassurance. Maybe it was something else entirely. Cal didn't really want to look too closely at it, so for now she'd live with the mystery.

It felt good to lean back against the pillow that cushioned her back from the cold window and just let the tension go, handing the reigns over to someone else for a minute. She hoped Dean caught the significance there, because she wouldn't ever admit to it and it sure as hell wouldn't happen again. _You can work at getting your backbone back later Catie. You earned a good rest. _Yeah, maybe ignoring that inner voice was overrated because that sounded like some pretty good advice even if she was the only one to hear it.

* * *

"Dean?" "Yeah?" "We're going to have to stop somewhere and pick up some supplies before we disappear." This was not Dean's first clue that the mystery location where they would be holing up was going to be a little more than just 'rural'. "What kind of supplies are we talking?" "Food, water, blankets and a few other things I don't think you've got hidden in that tickle trunk of yours." "You did not just reference Mr. Dressup while talking about my badass car!" Oh, but he had. Not that Malcolm was going to point that out or anything. "Uh, I think I just did." Except that he totally was. Lucky for him Dean didn't want to wake Cal up so he let it go.

"You got a preference as to where we stop? Are we talking stuff that can get picked up at your average gas station here or do we need to go someplace like Walmart?"

"This place I mentioned earlier? It's been sitting empty for about sixty years." Oh. "I'm going to need you to stay in the car with Cal, just in case, and I'm going to need some cash." Malcolm had pulled into the empty parking lot in front of a closed corner store. "Yeah, sure. Let me just get right on that for you." What on earth gave the guy the impression that Dean was the 'sit and wait' type? Still, he carefully canted his hips up to get his wallet out of his back pocket without jarring Cal's foot. He pulled out a couple of twenty dollar bills and a shiny new credit card.

"The card's brand new, never been used so you shouldn't have any red flags to worry about. How long you think you'll be?" Dean was the only one with a phone so there was no way to communicate if trouble came looking for them. If they didn't have a timeline to stick to Dean would never know if Malcolm needed them to come in after him.

"Half an hour, give or take." Which wasn't all that helpful, all things considered, but Dean would probably come running as soon as that thirtieth minute went ticking by.

"What am I looking for?" It made Dean nervous to know that he'd never set eyes on these folks before. He didn't know what their tricks were. Would they look like Cal?

"No one knows where we are. You're looking for anyone who comes near the car. Men, women, children, teenagers…_anyone_."

"Okay. Just don't be any longer than you have to be, alright? The sooner we're holed up somewhere safe the better I'm going feel about all this." Cal was back to whimpering in her sleep. Her foot wasn't exactly improving. Dean was worried.

So this is how Dean came to be sitting in the backseat of his own car, heavily armed and waiting on a guy he didn't really trust to take a run to Walmart for the things they'd need to survive indefinitely in a place he'd never even set eyes on. Dean's parting words to Malcolm were: "Hey, Highlander, don't forget ice packs… and chocolate. She's going to want some chocolate." At least he hoped she'd want some chocolate. If she didn't ask for the stuff they definitely had something to worry about.

Distraction came in the form of a small group of kids playing basketball down the street in someone's driveway. It was a little late at night for it, but on a weekend in a normal neighborhood with regular families it wasn't that unheard of. So he listened to the delayed, hollow sound of rubber on pavement as the ball was dribbled from one end of the driveway to the other. One hand held the cool metal of the gun that would defend their lives if it came down to it. The other rested on warm skin that rose and fell with Cal's slow, steady breathing. He felt better knowing that for now she was safe. It was enough to ease the sting of having to sit tight and wait. Dean Winchester might not have a whole lot of patience for the waiting game, but when it came down to getting something he wanted he was damned good at it.

* * *

Malcolm had seen a lot of change in his centuries of life. There were bad times, like the Black Plague and the Spanish Inquisition. There were hopeful times, like during the gold rush and the American revolution. He'd been a soldier, a sort-of doctor and had helped countless slaves escape to freedom and Canada. Nothing ever amazed him more than the commercialization that had attached itself to everything in these past five decades.

As a boy he'd been taught that if you wanted something you had to make it for yourself. Now he could walk in to the nearest department store and fill a house from kitchen cupboards and furniture to bedroom closets and then some. It blew his mind but he wasn't complaining. It was this commercialization that was going to make survival more than just a possibility.

Dean was going to be pissed off when he found out how much had been spent on that credit card. In his defense it was mostly due to Cal's injuries and the fact that they'd had to leave their stuff behind in her car. They probably wouldn't ever be able to use the card again. Maybe just once more to fill the Impala's gas tank, they'd need to before they got where they were going.

He was paranoid, no doubt about that. The whole time he meandered through the store he'd been scoping out the other customers and tried to keep one eye on the nearest exit. Hard to say if it was the paranoia but anyone he saw more than once was worthy of caution.

True to his word, Malcolm managed to make it through the cash within half an hour of stepping through the door. He was packing up the supplies he'd bought into a couple of brand new duffle bags when the problem made itself clear.

By the door there were a couple of dark-haired children sitting on a bench. Not an uncommon sight at a Walmart any given day of the week, it being the middle of the night sort of raised a red flag. Still, that didn't necessarily mean he'd been made. It was the guys in suits scanning the crowd from the customer service desk that tipped Malcolm off. They were trying way too hard, making sure to eyeball everyone _but_ him. Another cautious look at the kids yielded some interesting bulges under their clothing. Bad news was that they were carrying but the good news was they were undermanned enough to have to bring the kids along. There was a passing chance he might be able to get back to the car and load up before they made their move.

So he gave up on the packing and just wheeled the cart out of the store and straight off the lot, cursing how loud the damned thing was when its wheels met pavement. Little voices shouted from somewhere behind. _He's getting away! _The pit-a-pat sound of little running shoes racing across the parking lot far more sinister than any horror movie type monster he'd ever faced.

If he could only get to the car they could drive off and lose them somewhere in the twisting back roads so they could disappear.

Panic didn't even factor in until he laid eyes on Black Beauty. The kids that had been playing basketball had given up the game and were slowly making their way down the street, surrounding the Impala at a distance with the obvious intention of closing in and overtaking Dean and Cal who were still inside.

"You sure as hell took your damned time. " Dean was grouchy and on edge, window rolled down, door open and leaning out of the car the better to snark at Malcolm who was still a few dozen feet away. Never mind the fact that Mal was now at dead run, with a shopping cart full of stuff and a newly acquired unwanted entourage.

He was trying to wheeze out the words _get your damned gun out, idiot _but it just wasn't possible. Lucky for everyone Dean was an observant kind of guy. Before anyone knew what was going on Dean had a shotgun leveled across the roof of the car and had leveled a warning shot somewhere near the feet of the closest ambusher.

"We really need all that stuff?" He asked over his shoulder as Malcolm pulled open the driver's side door and started shoveling the contents of the cart across to the seat. "I'd love to say no but yeah, we really do." Dean looked like he could argue but he was too busy fending off the masses. It felt like it took forever but before long Malcolm was kicking the cart away and yelling at Dean to get in the car. They pulled off with the biggest, baddest tire squeal chased by a hail of dirt and gunfire. The sound of twisted children shouting obscenities haunting Dean more effectively than anything he'd ever experienced before.

"How'd they know where we'd be? _We_ didn't even know where we were going." Suspicion, Dean's old friend, was back but Malcolm wasn't going to cater to it this time. "How does Cal know the things she does? They're connected Dean. They've had feelers out looking for Cal for ages. They knew who and what to look for. These guys are scary good and crazy enough to be really dangerous."

"Well that's just fan-freakin'-tastic. How in the hell are we supposed to hide from these people? I feel like I'm in a bad remake of that Village of the Damned movie. I'm half expecting to find out those freaky kids can read our minds too."

In the heat of the moment Dean had been too focused on fending off those freaky ass kids but now that the action had died down a bit it hit him. "My car. Those little brats had better not have even scratched her paint." Of course he'd be more worried about the paint job on his car than Malcolm's hide. "We're breathing right?" Was all the other man had to say and didn't it just figure the guy wouldn't understand. "We lose them at least?" There was no point hiding if the freaky little kids were just going follow them, was there? "For now." But there was no measure of triumph to Malcolm's voice when he answered. It didn't count as any kind of battle won. They'd come too close and it was just too soon to tell if they would be able to get away long enough to get where they were going.

"We're going to need more than a hope and a prayer, man. I'm getting the impression that's all we're working with." The sober tone was contagious because it was all over Dean.

On the other side of Malcolm's grim reflection in the windshield the asphalt stretched out dark and endless before them. "We'll just have to see what happens then, huh?" If it came out sounding like snark then Dean could just deal with it. There was enough to worry about without having to add hurting a big boy's feelings to the list.

* * *

Two days drive was what it took to get where they were going. Two days, four driving shift changes between Dean and Malcolm and just the one stop to fill up the Impala's tank and a couple of spares so they wouldn't have to again. Bathroom breaks were taken on the side of the road in whatever bush was handy, and with Cal that got sort of tricky.

They took every back road available, and some that probably weren't just to be sure no one saw where they might be going. Malcolm took them as far as humanly possible with the Impala before breaking the news that they'd have to abandon her and hike the rest of the way.

"You're kidding me, right? I'm not just leaving her here." Only there was no choice. There were no actual roads that led to whatever middle-of-the-nowhere piece of wilderness hell on earth Malcolm was leading them to. Driving through the brush wasn't an option. Not only because it would wreck the underside of the car but also because it was the equivalent of painting bright red arrows on the ground leading right up to their hideout. There really was no help for it. "I'm not seeing any other options here Dean." Cal was a little less tense but still very injured. Didn't take a genius to see that the sooner they got her stationary the better. "_Fine_, but _you're _helping me cover her up in that godforsaken shed. If she gets damaged, it's your ass I'm taking it out on. Got me?" Lesser men had tried and failed, but far be it for Malcolm to argue with a Winchester.

It was a six hour hike into the middle of nowhere and that was without the supplies. Cal had to be carried most of the way. At the end of their little trek there wasn't a pot of gold or a cute little house made of gingerbread and candy. No, what they got was a tiny little clearing with a decrepit abandoned train car and an ancient wooden caravan with no door that looked like a strong wind could knock it right over.

"This is it?" Dean was decidedly underwhelmed. He'd holed up in some pretty questionable places but this took the cake. They needed shelter, something that could take a beating. Something that wouldn't fall apart around them because of a light rain.

"Yep. Home sweet home." Though Malcolm's smile was tight he was genuinely pleased which Dean found pretty weird considering. Not for the first time Dean found himself questioning the other man's sanity.

"You're kidding." They'd just spent countless hours hiking running, dodging and hiking only to end up with a busted up quasi shelter that wasn't even close to livable. It had to be some kind of sick joke.

"Nope." A loving hand travelled along the edge of the wagon, fingers tracing some of the intricate carving along their path. "She's still in pretty good shape considering she's been parked here since the end of the Gold Rush." It would take a couple of days to whip it back into shape, but they had time and until then they had a roof and four walls to keep the elements away.

"She asleep?" He nodded to Cal who was draped across Dean's chest, eyes closed and arms slack. "I think so." There was that at least. The hike hadn't been kind to her. At least now she wouldn't feel like she had to put the effort into helping them clean out the wagon. "Set her down in the shade over there. We're going to have to beat the ticking and let it air out before setting up the pallet for her to sleep on. That'll take a while."

It wasn't until Dean found himself dragging a big lumpy mattress that was older than dirt through the doorless frame of the wagon that he figured out what Malcolm had meant. Little did he know Malcolm planned to set him to work and then just take off. So while Dean beat at the grandfather of all futon mattresses, swearing like a sailor the whole way, Cal slept quietly in the shade. By the time Malcolm had finished trekking the supplies back from the shed where they'd hidden the Impala, Dean had crashed out too, stretched out on his back beside Cal in the moonlight. Muscle memory had him resting a hand on her hip in sleep just in case, the better to wake him in the middle of the night should she start to toss and turn again.

Malcolm wasn't jealous. He couldn't give himself that luxury. That being said, it didn't mean he had to like this bond Cal and Dean seemed to share. Maybe it was the history Malcolm and her family shared spanning back through countless generations. Maybe it was that Cal had saved his life as a child. Maybe he was just experiencing some odd protective fatherly something toward her now that he knew Jacob wasn't around to look out for her any more. Who knew?

Whatever the case, there had been one too many intimate moments since Dean had joined their little duo, shared conversations without words that Malcolm had not been made privy to. Every time they read each other's minds, every time they shared a look or Dean predicted a need before even Cal realized it was there Malcolm felt a stab of something decidedly uncomfortable.

No, he wasn't jealous. He was just feeling a little left out. _Right, old man, whatever gets you through the day._


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_So This is What It's Like to Find Out You're Related to The Children of the Corn._

Cal was sore enough to fully expect sterile white hospital room walls and various beeping machines plugged into her body. What she found couldn't be farther from expectation. Apparently she'd fallen asleep in the grass, wherever Malcolm had led them to. Someone had covered her with a utility blanket and shielded her from the morning dew with a big green tarp. There was a dozing man on either side of her, which was nice but a little odd considering the two had been gnashing at each other pretty consistently from the moment Dean had to park his Impala.

The man of the hour lay to her right, not quite spooning with the one hand on her hip as if none of the past year had happened. Cal wasn't sure if she wanted to relax into him and just breathe or shove him off for overstepping. The throbbing of her foot made the choice for her instead, better to lay still and do nothing for now.

Malcolm was on her left facing away from where she'd been sleeping. He was close enough to share body heat but far enough away that they weren't touching; both respectful and protective all at once. If she were more of a girl there might have been opportunity to use the term 'gentleman'. Thankfully there would be no such embarrassing admissions because Cal was a bad ass who didn't need those kinds of niceties. Well, that was the story she was sticking with anyway. Besides, pain or no there were definitely worse ways of greeting the day.

Dean always had this boyish quality to him when he slept. It was as if somehow he'd managed to retain a little innocence regardless of all the years he'd spent growing up a hunter's son. The sharp angles softened and the hard edges blurred enough that he didn't look angry or worried. No, she was not melting at the sight of him like some silly sixteen year old, thank you very much. She did like the sight of him though, and the momentary illusion there might be a little innocence left in the man yet. _You__ deserve a little peace, Winchester, even if you're a pain in the ass when you're awake._

Malcolm, on the other hand, had an air of mischief about him in sleep. It's not that it wasn't there when he was awake. It was just that having a secret like his brought with it a seriousness that tended to make a mischievous personality a liability. _Great, I'm surrounded by adorably innocent and sin incarnate and I'm too beat up to be able to do anything about it either way. _Fantastic. Well, none of that for you this morning Cal. _Alright girl, enough with the lying around. _At the very least she needed to rummage around Dean's bag for a bottle of Ibuprofen. Her injuries were healing but they were still fresh enough to be excruciating and itchy without the Advil.

Her pride kept her from waking the men on either side of her just yet. They'd been doting on her for days already, trying to anticipate her every need before she actually needed it. It had been especially difficult to take in the confines of the car. Close confines like that and two overbearingly protective men had left her a little cranky.

Cal wasn't exactly well known for being gracious when injured and she'd been trying really hard to change that but sometimes a girl just needed to do something for herself. If only to remind herself she still could. The plan was to shimmy out from between the two guys without waking them. First step: turning over onto her back without jostling the sleeping bear that was Dean.

Shifting her weight wasn't as bad an experience as she'd anticipated. Her shoulder was doing okay, the swelling had gone and the tenderness at a minimum. If Dean hadn't slid it back into joint she probably would have temporarily lost the use of that hand. _Thank you, powers that be, for small mercies._ Cal had spent a good deal of the time she'd spent conscious on the drive out from the O'Sulivan compound afraid she'd have to relearn how to throw a knife or possibly lose the use of that hand entirely. No such worries now. She could think what she wanted of him but Dean was always there when it counted.

The current issues were that foot and ankle that had never quite stopped swelling. It just wasn't getting any better. Every time the blanket brushed against the huge wool sock that covered the bandage wrapped around her foot it triggered a chain reaction. The muscles around her ankle would spasm and cause a burning to shoot right up past her knee, through her thigh and past her hip to her lower back. Clearly there was a ways to go before _that_ would set itself straight again. Could there be a broken bone causing all this discomfort? Maybe, but with all the moving around they'd been doing it was really hard to tell.

She'd managed to push herself up a bit with her good foot when Dean's hand flexed on her abdomen where it had drifted. "Where you goin' SheRa?" He mumbled into the sleeve of the arm he'd tucked under his head. "Ibuprofen, I think." Malcolm growled groggily from the other side. "Slept right through so hasn't had any since yesterday." Great. There went any illusion that she could still move stealthily. And now she couldn't even give her own answers. Well, she'd be damned if they stopped her from getting her own damned painkillers. "No worries guys, I'll grab what I need. You've done more than enough for me the last few days." For the moment she was going to ignore the fact that the raw, ragged edged voice that came from her mouth was hardly recognizable as her own.

"Don' move." Dean managed to slur out as he propped himself up on his elbows. Lids not quite open, he glanced wearily through slitted lids around the clearing they were in looking for the most likely place for the Advil bottle to have ended up. "I'll get it." Malcolm was already up and moving across the clearing toward the pile of bags he'd set between the caravan and the train car.

"I can get it, really." She was adamant about wanting to do _something_ for herself, but like most of Cal's protest lately it went largely ignored. Dean's acknowledgement that she probably could do for herself amounted to nothing more than a pat on her good knee. _Hm_. A little patronizing much?

"Coffee's going to take a bit. There's a wood stove in the caravan but it's only been used once or twice since 1876. It'll have to be cleaned out before we can use it to cook." Well, wasn't Malcolm just the bearer of fantastic news today? Dean scowled his agreement with her silent assessment, the heels of his palms digging into his eyelids. "Wasn't there a jar of instant somewhere in that shopping cart full of crap you made us stop for?" Grouching is what Winchester does best, after all. Not that he could be blamed. They were facing the morning without caffeine after all.

"Hey, if you want to put together a fire and boil some water then go for it." Malcolm wasn't going to help the coffee situation along, apparently. It seemed he was of the impression that the wood stove would take less time, cleaning and all. This was doing nothing for Cal's mood either.

Cal, for her part, had changed her mind about getting up. The more awake she became the more everything throbbed. _Damn_. Okay, so maybe it was just as well the guys weren't letting her do a thing for herself. Maybe it was better to just lie where she was. Pulling the blanket back up to her chin she rolled over on to her good side, tucked a corner of the blanket between her arm and her face and curled into a semi-fetal position.

She hadn't been this awake in days and the reality of their situation had just begun to really sink in. Worse than the physical pain she was in, which on its own was difficult enough to handle with or without a little Ibuprofen, was the knowledge that her newly found relatives were certifiably insane.

It took a special kind of special to torture and maim readily over a bunch of old books. Lord only knew what was in the things that made these people want them so bad. When Malcolm had first told her about the family her father had kept secret, Cal had harbored hope that there might be a chance at reconciliation. Her cousins had done away with that bit of nonsense quickly enough, which in itself hadn't been completely unexpected. Lord only knew Malcolm had tried to warn her. It was the crushing sense of loss that had really done her in. Cal had never missed her father more, and that was saying an awful lot.

"Hey, you okay over there?" Malcolm had been watching Cal carefully. His heart sank ever time she went from defiant and wanting to do for herself to that little girl he'd helped tuck in to the backseat of her father's truck decades before. Pale and sallow, the ever-present dark circles around her eyes giving her a haunted quality that just didn't fit. "Mhm." Her weak answer in a small voice that had Dean taking notice too. Judging from the dark look sent up like buckshot at the sky, the guy wasn't happy with what he'd heard.

Glancing over his shoulder at Malcolm to see if he'd caught it too. Satisfied that he wasn't the only one concerned, Dean began what had become the usual line of questioning. "What's the matter?" It was the _only_ question, repeated so many times over such a short time that it had become annoying even to the person asking it. Not at all surprising at this point considering it had been necessary about every thirty seconds or so since her shoulder had been reset. Cal didn't even bother with an answer, though, just shut her eyes and pretended to drift off again. Malcolm, who had dug out the bottle of Advil, was shrugging at him from across the way. _What did you expect? _They'd thought for a moment that maybe Cal had finally come back to her usual self. Clearly they'd been wrong.

From then on Cal slept, pretended to sleep or didn't sleep at all but faked it anyway. She was quiet, too quiet, and just let them take care of her. It was freaky. It was wrong. Dean didn't like it _at all_, but what was he supposed to do about it? _Chick flick moments just aren't my thing, man._ Not that one of those caring-and-sharing moments were likely to do much good anyway.

He couldn't get into her head to see what was rattling around in there, messing her up so badly she'd become almost catatonic with it. Malcolm wasn't any kind of help in that department either. He'd gone just as quiet as Cal, though at least the guy was _doing _something with his time. Dean wasn't thrilled at the manual labor involved. Cleaning had never been something he was passionate about but it did feel better to be doing something productive instead of sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They were about halfway through clearing out the squirrels and dirt from the train car when Malcolm changed his mind. "We should really get the wagon ready before dark. The ticking should be aired out enough by now to fix Cal up a decent place to prop up her foot." But that didn't make much sense. The prehistoric futon was big, by modern standards, but it still would only sleep one comfortably. Okay, maybe one and a half. The floor of the wagon was too narrow to lay more than one grown man. Granted, one of them would be keeping watch at all times on the off chance those freaky kids managed to track them down to the middle of nowhere. Sure, the caravan had the wood stove and a place to sit, but it still didn't make much sense.

"Uh, why? Seems to me the train car's got more room. We're not all going to fit in that crowded little wagon. I mean, it makes more sense we sleep here. It wouldn't take much to move the wood stove over from the wagon, set up the mattress in the back and…" Malcolm shook his head like Dean was missing something and just turned to walk away. "Hey!" Dean followed close behind, ready to start arguing the logic behind his idea, when he realized Malcolm was leading him into the wagon. _Fantastic! When did I get roped in to a game of 'Follow the Leader' anyway?_

Now, Dean Winchester wasn't generally the type of guy to just follow along, especially knowing that Cal was sleeping out in the grass all broken and in need of protection. No matter how comfortable they'd made her, she deserved better. They needed to get her somewhere she'd be safe from the elements, the wildlife and where they could hold their ground if her family were to show up again. The caravan was quite a bit smaller and that's the only way Malcolm's move made any kind of sense. Less time spent with the clean up meant more time to put defenses in place.

So they cleaned out the caravan as best they could with what they had. It turned out that having a centuries-old Scotsman who had done his fair share of roughing it was a real advantage in that department. By nightfall there was water boiling on the woodstove for coffee and the stuff Malcolm had insisted they bring with them had been stashed away in various doll sized cupboards and drawers. Cal was comfortably ensconced in the bed area at the very back of the wagon. Her sleeping form half hidden in blankets and shaded from the candle light by the sheet Malcolm had draped from the ceiling to give her some privacy. For the first time any of them could remember in a long while they were warm and cozy. The Bohemian relic of the older man's past was working some sort of magic on them regardless of what was out there waiting to pounce.

"Sun's setting. Feels like it'll be a cold one tonight." So far there had been no sign that they might have been followed but that didn't stop that feeling from creeping under Cal's skin. The one that reminded a person that nothing was certain. The deep shadows of the night were the preferred hiding places of monsters and crazy folk, and one or the other could jump out at them at any given moment. Given her families tendencies they couldn't rule out the possibility of both at the same time either.

"We take it in shifts again tonight?" Whether Dean meant keeping Cal warm, sleeping or keeping watch Malcolm couldn't say.

"Yeah, I'll take first watch." He was too full of coffee to be able to think, too full of his own thoughts to be able to drift off even if he'd wanted to.

"You sure?" It was nice that Dean felt the need to be certain but it was also just a courtesy. The poor kid was dead on his feet, eyes at half mast and dragging his feet from an exhausting day.

"Yeah. Go on, I'll wake you when it's your turn." Dean didn't argue for once. Toeing off his boots by the edge of the bed, he carefully crawled across the blankets trying hard not to wake Cal. The man was snoring before he was horizontal. That damned hand was on Cal's hip again and Malcolm was having a much harder time convincing himself that the jealousy of an old man was out of line.

_She's Jake's daughter and she's got a life outside of the twisted family crap you just brought down on her head. You don't have any right to feel any kind of anything for the girl._ There was no denying that Dean was good for her, at least as far as Mal had been able see. But Dean hadn't known the eight year old who would have preferred to die trying to behead a vampire three times her size than sit back and watch a stranger bleed out on her watch. Dean Winchester might have one hell of a track record but Malcolm wasn't so sure he truly understood and appreciated Cal's determination. He knew the woman she'd become inside and out but there would always be a part of her out of his reach; a part that only she and Malcolm were still around to remember.

_She's gorgeous Jake, and so damned incredible. You did good. _Lust aside she'd grown up to be a formidable woman. Would Jacob have wanted to kick his ass for having impure thoughts about his daughter? Probably. He'd have thrown a few punches, made Malcolm order a couple of pints and then Jake would've likely given his blessing. Well, provided his daughter felt the same way for Mal.

_What are you going to do about this, Old Man? _That was a good question. Would he act on these impulses and the mixed signals she kept tossing his way? No. Malcolm was more subtle than that. He'd take his cues from Cal is what he'd do. If she kept clinging to Dean like he was all there was to life, then Malcolm would let them be. Should there be any change in that closeness or should Cal begin to show a serious interest in Malcolm though… well, he'd just have to ante up and hedge his bets now wouldn't he?

* * *

"Why do we have to stay inside again today?" Jason whispered to Fran. The first day or two of being cooped up had been fun. Fran and Sam weren't usually okay with him spending the day in front of the tv or playing video games. He'd even spent an entire afternoon reading. The problem was that he was used to being sent outside to play. He _liked_ running through Cal's cornfields and playing in the muck. Sam had bought him a bike the week before and it was calling to him from the barn out back. There were adventures to be had. Not being able to get out to have them was really starting to _suck_.

"We've been through this Jace. Sam says it's not safe to leave the house. After everything we've been through together I'm inclined to trust him. You should too." They hadn't gone into any detail about what they were facing this time but the kids had experienced enough of the supernatural to be able to draw their own conclusions. Sam figured it was best not to feed their fears by telling them that this time it wasn't a ghost or a demon but actual human beings. No need to risk raising all the old fears of their father would waltz back into their lives and take everything away from them.

"But it's the middle of the day! Don't those things mostly come out at night?" He was a smart kid, that one. No one could ever say otherwise. Unfortunately Fran was starting to feel like maybe she'd had her fill of trying to fend him off.

"Sam, you want to field this one? I've got to check on our anti-social, grouchy resident teenager." This solution being the equivalent of dumping a crying baby in Sam's bewildered arms. With all the time he'd spent away with Cal looking for Dean, the routine had changed. Sam had become a novelty rather than just another adult who was allowed to make and enforce the rules.

"Come on, Sasquatch. I just want to go ride my bike." It was Dean all over. Jason sure knew what buttons to push. "Sorry kiddo. Not today. Tell you what though, how about we dig into Dean's Godzilla movie collection?" Yeah, that would hold off that jittery cabin fever for a little while. Add a bowl of popcorn and some soda and maybe Maggie would join the party too.

"Can't we even just go out to the barn? There's always something cool in the barn…" Lots to see and touch and do, the kids always loved to poke around in there. Any other time and it would have been an excellent idea. Jace was smart, he knew that if Sam said no there was a really good reason for it. He also knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it… again, and again and again. The kid had stamina, they had to give him that much.

"Nope." Sam stayed firm, much to Jason's dismay. "How long are we going to have to stay in the stupid farmhouse anyway?" He pouted moodily, trying hard to hide his excitement when Sam pulled out the air popper for the popcorn. "I wish I knew buddy. Hopefully not too much longer." And wouldn't it be awesome if for once nothing happened at all?

If they were lucky, Cal would heal up quickly and Dean would make it back safely with her sooner rather than later. Maybe then they'd see trouble coming before it was right on them. Until then they were all on lockdown and flying blind. It was just a matter of time before something happened; he could only hope they'd be prepared when that happened.

"So what do you think kiddo, Godzilla vs Mothra? Maybe a little Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla? _Or_… maybe we could watch your favorite…" And there's where Jason was hooked. "_Cloverfield?"_ The movie was guaranteed to put a smile on the kid's face. He'd watched it zillions of times already, probably because it was the last thing he'd watched with Dean before… well, just before.

"Alright, alright, calm down. Go let Franny and your sister know the popcorn's ready."

"_Maggie! Franny! Popcorn!"_ Jason was shouting up the stairs before he was even half way up, voice bouncing through the house and echoing around them. As Sam bent to the task of getting the movie ready he had his cell to one ear. "Hey Dean. I, uh, just wanted to check in. So far there hasn't been any trouble on our end. The kids are getting a little antsy but we're managing. Bobby said he'd check in sometime tonight. No change there either. So, uh, yeah. Call us, you know, if anything changes." There wasn't much else to say. That didn't stop his mind from running through all the possible things that could go wrong while everyone else watched the movie. There was no shaking that feeling that something big was brewing. All they could do was hope they all came out of it in one piece this time.


	23. Chapter 23

Enter the usual disclaimer: still don't own the show, the car or the boys. My girl Cal just wanted to take them for a joyride through the sandbox of my imagination. Sorry the updates are so sporadic. We're moving across province and it's been insane around here lately. Another couple of weeks to go and I'll be posting more regularly again. Thanks to everyone who is taking the time to read my stuff. I've only got a couple more chapters of Renegade to write before it's over. The next in the series has already been written and will be called 'We All Fall Down'. I'm pretty excited about it :) Hope you're enjoying the story as much as I enjoy writing it!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_You Can't Always Run And You Can't Ever Hide_

Dean was beginning to wonder if maybe there was some sort of witchy-type spell work going on to protect the little clearing that was currently their hiding place. Time felt like it crawled by no matter how much work they had to keep busy. Cal rarely left the bed in the caravan but that was mostly because he and Malcolm wouldn't let her. She was still a wreck and the healing process was slow.

Four days in the middle of nowhere and the swelling in her foot was finally going away. She was left with a pronounced limp but Dean was pretty sure she'd be able to shake that off with time. They were living off of canned Chunky soup, coffee, oatmeal and whatever Malcolm managed to catch in the traps he set in the bush that surrounded them. There were wild berries around and the remnants of a garden that Malcolm had abandoned decades before. Asparagus, garlic, leeks, a pretty impressive broccoli plant that could double as an oak tree and some herbs that were apparently hardy enough to grow back every year. _What I wouldn't give for a friggin' burger! _It wasn't that Dean wasn't thankful they had enough food to keep their stomachs from imploding. He was, _really_ he was. Sam would've loved this stuff. He was the tree hugging, veggie loving one in the family. Not that Dean spent a whole lot of time grousing about the food. He was smarter than to say anything. He was too busy worrying about Cal to put very much thought into their current diet.

The longer they stayed in one spot, the jumpier Cal got. She pretended to sleep a lot but in reality she wasn't getting much more than an hour or two a day. The woman was pretty good at putting on an act, but she sure wasn't fooling Dean. He knew her too well for that.

Even in sleep she was fidgety as hell. Not tossing and turning, the pain kept her from doing any of that, but there was a disturbing amount of twitching going on. Cal never had been very good at being the patient. The only time she was able to lay still was when he had an arm wrapped around her. Then she just sort of melted back against him and settled.

By dawn on the sixth day she was about ready to go crazy with having nothing to do. Somehow she made it out to the train car without waking Dean, who had taken to wrapping an arm around her while he slept. Probably because he was afraid she'd run off while his eyes were closed and he didn't trust Malcolm to stop her. She couldn't blame him considering that was what had got her into this mess in the first place. Malcolm, for his part, was out checking his traps and for signs of possible trouble; doing the rounds to keep them safe.

Cal had grabbed the handful of butter knives from the drawer in the caravan camper and tested the weight of one of the ancient things in her hand. They looked as if they came from sometime in the fifties, and knowing Malcolm they probably had.

Sizing up the wall of the train car she wondered if there was enough edge to the knives for them to stick. The shoulder she'd dislocated was still giving her one hell of a hard time but it was worth the pain if she got to feel as if she was _doing_ something.

"Here goes nothing." Jaw clenched, eyes on that spot on the wall she wanted to nail, she visualized. Any other time the throw would have been executed one smooth motion. She'd been doing it since the age of eight, after all. Her shoulder would have rolled back, her arm would have followed. She'd have held the knife loosely balanced between her fingers and put all of her weight into letting it go. She would have stood still while the normally non-lethal little bit of metal soared through the air and hit home wherever it was she sent it.

What actually happened? She wasn't really all that sure. One minute she was going through all the right motions then the knife clattered to the ground about halfway between her and the intended target. She was falling backwards toward the hardwood floor of the old train car arms flailing. Cal would have ended up on her ass on the cold floor in _a lot _of pain except that a pair of big calloused hands had stopped her descent. Yeah, ok, so maybe not so far a stretch with two huge, overprotective men hovering over her every breath. But which one did these particular hands belong to? Also, were they friendly? A girl couldn't be too careful these days, especially when she was related to some rather unhinged people who liked to sick their trained Rottweiler type poltergeist on their own damned family.

"Oh, come on She-Ra. You didn't think sneaking out on me was going to be that easy, did you?" His voice rumbled through his chest and reverberated against her back so she felt the words more than she heard them. "Why'd you let me come out here alone then?" She was defiance itself in a tiny, quiet package. "You looked like you needed some space. I figured it couldn't hurt as long as I kept an eye out." He knew her too well. It really freaked her out sometimes. "You were on a roll there for a minute. I was just going to let you do your thing and pretend to look for you when you were done but then you started falling and…" He didn't want to insult her pride but it the thought behind his action was clear so he voiced it anyway, taking his chances. "You've been in so much pain, I didn't want you to have to deal with another setback." He didn't want to see her hurt anymore than she already was. He was being a real sweetheart, acting completely out of character and it was destroying what few defenses she had left. Damned if she knew what to do about it.

They were acutely aware of each other. His hands on her sides were warm enough to feel right through the three layers she was wearing. Her back was pressed up against his chest, heartbeats pounding erratically in an odd little harmony, echoing in their ears and through their limbs. When he squeezed her a little closer all she wanted to do was turn around and let him hold her. She hated being this insecure, hated that he was seeing her this way; hated being broken at all. "You okay?" Soft words whispered warmly against the shell of her ear had her breath coming a little faster. "I…" She wanted to say she was fine but the truth of it was she wasn't really sure _what_ she was anymore. 'Fine' would have been a lie. What would a lie accomplish at this point? Absolutely nothing. There was no self preservation in a lie when the person you're lying to knows you're doing it. "Honestly? No. I'm really not." Might as well own the feeling. Jacob had not raised a coward.

That did not make Dean's 'aha!' moment any easier. For the first time since he'd pulled her out of Malcolm's car broken and bruised she was talking; really talking and he wasn't even trying to hide how happy he was about it. Well, okay. Maybe he was, but she could see it anyway.

Not one to let an important moment pass, of the chick flick variety or not, Dean ever so gently turned her around so he could see her face. Reaching for her he cupped her cheeks in his palms. When she tried to close her eyes to the words that were on the tip of his tongue, tried to hide from everything he said without speaking, he wouldn't let her. "Hey." Pretty and blue, fringed with the longest lashes he'd ever seen she zeroed in on him like he was going to share all the hidden secrets of the universe with her. _Whatever you say now, man, you better make it count. _Wasn't every day a guy had this girl hanging off his every word. "Maybe not now, but you _will_ be." Simple and to the point, Dean had never really been one to mince words when it really mattered. Right then she felt like she could actually believe him. Maybe, just maybe, she really _was_ going to be okay.

For a moment they just stood there, Dean holding her as she swayed a little on her own feet with something weighty and invisible hanging there between them. A pregnant emptiness as if the silence around them was just waiting for what was supposed to come next. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to last. Cal wasn't ready to take any kind of a step in any direction and Dean knew better than to push. Oddly, that didn't dull the anticipation in the slightest. "Dean? Cal?" Malcolm was hollering from the caravan door. Finally back from his trekking around the woods, he sounded tired and worried. Not that it was any wonder considering he and Dean had agreed to keep Cal resting as long as she'd let them.

With a sigh Dean dropped his hands from where they touched her, took a deliberate step back and then another. "In here!" He hollered back, trying hard to sound calm and collected. It wouldn't do to have Malcolm thinking anything was wrong, would it? He sure as hell wasn't going to let on to Cal how disappointed he was to have Malcolm back either. Taking her cues from Dean, Cal turned and bent gingerly around her injuries to pick up the knife that hadn't done what she'd demanded of it. Maybe it was his imagination but she seemed a little more comfortable in her own skin as she moved. Malcolm was at the door of the train car before he could get a proper feel for her mood though. "Everything okay in here?" After what they'd been through, Malcolm was naturally inclined to be worried at any little thing. Especially with the toll it had taken on Cal. Dean couldn't blame him given his own overprotective tendencies, not that he liked the implication that she might not be safe alone with him.

Instead of answering and before Dean could utter a word, Cal threw the knife again with purpose. This time it did reach the wall. In fact, it became wedged about an inch deep into the slightly warped wood siding and vibrated with the force of her throw. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder Cal turned away from her own handiwork with a proud tilt to her chin, walked past both men and out the door as if nothing had happened.

"What was _that_ about?" Bleary eyed Malcolm was suddenly very awake, gaping at the woman trotting across the clearing toward the scent of fresh brewed coffee. There was something about the way Dean had watched Cal leave and was now grinning like a fool at the knife in the wall that she'd thrown. There was a _that's my girl _quality about it Malcolm wasn't sure he was okay with. "She might be broken, Mal, but she's going to be just fine." The cheeky bastard had the audacity to pat Malcolm on the shoulder before following Cal out. "I just made a fresh pot. You want some?" Malcolm's answer was a nod only because he was having a hard time finding his voice.

"Dean?" Something in the ragged edged tone stopped Dean cold, had him turning back to face the man who had saved Cal's life. Malcolm looked him over critically from head to toe before nodding at him just the once. "You hurt her and I'll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands." Not a threat but a promise to be taken with the utmost seriousness. Dean was a smart enough man to know not to say a word but to give the promise its due respect. Still, this was Dean Winchester, a man who had a hard time resisting the urge to spout off at the mouth whenever the opportunity arose. He wasn't known to resist the urge to get lippy. Not even toward his own father. "Braver men have tried and failed, Mal, but don't you worry. If I ever get to be suicidal enough to hurt her there won't be enough left of me to kill once she's done with me." Then, with a wink and a smile, he turned and trotted off to the caravan.

"Damned if you're not wrong, Winchester." Malcolm muttered darkly to himself. "But I'll salt and burn your remains myself if it comes down to it."

Cal knew what living with personal ghosts meant. She'd had her fair share and had taken them in stride, even if her methods of dealing were less than perfect. After losing her father she'd felt like there had been a big gaping hole in her life where he'd once been a solid fixture. This was different, harder to pin down. It was as if learning about her screwed up, in-bred relatives had left a giant void _inside her_. There was just no wrapping her head around their blatant disregard for life. It was all about the hunt and nothing to do with actually helping people. In fact, when they weren't torturing what they wanted out of folks they basically viewed other people as being in the way of the job: a nuisance at best, an obstacle to be removed at worst. _Guess I'd fall under the 'obstacle' category right about now._ Wouldn't do to have some broken second cousin wandering around screwing things up for them by complaining to the authorities about how _crazy _they were. They most certainly wouldn't want that cousin to heal up and come after them for revenge or retribution either.

Her father had raised her to believe in justice rather than revenge. Part of what was making this inner struggle so damned hard was the way justice and revenge seemed to merge together in her mind she'd been battered. Hard to feel grateful to Malcolm, too, lucky bugger that he was. Healing up as quickly as he had was a gift she'd wished for repeatedly since escaping that god-forsaken compound. Sitting around waiting for broken body parts to heal had never really been her thing. It was enough to ruin a girl's disposition and make her a little cranky.

Then there was Dean who was being so…_strange_. That bit in the train car had been a surprise. A level of intimacy without actual _intimacy_ had developed and she wasn't sure how she felt about _that_ either. Malcolm might have got her in to some seriously hot water but so far he'd kept his promises. _Winchester_, on the other hand, had left her high and dry without any kind of regard to her feelings and had been running from the damage he'd caused for over a year. _What are you up to Dean?_ Hard to tell what motivation might lie behind his actions, all things considered. If by some miracle they all made it out of this alive, was he up to sticking around? Would he stick by her after she'd sorted out the grisly skeletons in her family closet? It certainly seemed as if he might be considering it, but then Cal wasn't exactly the best person to be making assumptions about the man.

And what about Malcolm? All she knew about him for certain revolved around some really foggy memories from a time before she'd hit double digits. If Cal was being honest with herself she'd have to admit that she'd thought the memories to be a little bit outrageous. Almost as if all the grand stories her father told of her first hunt had caused her to have a grandiose view of what she's actually accomplished that day. You couldn't make up the feel of a machete cutting through flesh and bone though, so that first beheading was real at least. But maybe the depth of Malcolm's injuries hadn't been as bad as they'd seemed. At eight she'd developed nothing short of hero worship for the giant, hairy man she'd miraculously saved from almost certain death. A little girl with a big crush on a man who, it seemed, couldn't die. Now that she was all grown up, she was sure he was sending her all the right signals. No way to mistake the depth of his injuries he suffered at the compound either or how quickly he shaken them off. Malcolm also liked what he saw in her, but in what capacity? Was this admiration for a fellow hunter's skill, or was he seeing her as the woman she was… and did she really want to go there with her father's oldest friend?

No. She couldn't. Not until she got her head screwed on straight again and not while so much lay so clearly unresolved and unaddressed between her and Dean.

"Hey, SheRa! You still breathing in there?" _Speak of the devil. _That was Dean with his sharp little rap at the door of the caravan. "There's coffee in there with my name on it, I could smell it from all the way over there. Open up!" She didn't know if she ought to shake her head and smile or roll her eyes at the obnoxiousness of it all. She settled for opening the door with a smirk. _How the hell do you manage to make it all so easy?_

Poking his head in part-way Dean glanced down at her hands. "You put those butter knives back yet?" He asked cheekily with a wink. The man would do anything to get a smile. "Your hide is safe for now, Winchester. I wouldn't get in the way of you and your caffeine anyway. You're scarier than I am sometimes when you're caffeine deprived." It was the closest thing to a compliment he was going to get from her yet and he was cool with that. It was enough to put a cheek crinkling smile on his face.

He poured her a coffee while he made his own but left it for her on the ancient wood stovetop. Watching her take her first sip from the part of the wall he was propping up he took stock while hoping he wasn't being too obvious. "You want to tell me what's on your mind there, Dean, or am I going to have those eyes surgically removed from my back end?" Okay, so maybe she wasn't quite herself yet but she was getting there. "I, uh." He cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee before putting his thoughts into words. "I was just wondering if you were sick of lying around yet? I know you tend to go a little stir crazy, Malcolm mentioned a raspberry patch about a half mile away from here. We could take a walk out there if you want to and you think you're up to it."

Out in the trees a young girl, no older than five or six, crawled quietly through the brush on the forest floor. They'd be leaving the safety of their hiding place soon and she didn't have much time to get back to the others.

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Reviews are love! ^_^


	24. Chapter 24

Enter the usual disclaimer: still don't own the show, the car or the boys. My girl Cal just wanted to take them for a joyride through the sandbox of my imagination. We're in the home stretch with this one, two chapters left to go. Keep an eye out for the next in the series. It's already been written and will be called 'We All Fall Down'. I'm pretty excited about it :) Hope you're enjoying the story as much as I enjoy writing it!

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**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_Try as you might you can't hide from yourself_

She was seeing things in the bush, in the trees and under the brush. Weeks of sleeping, healing, sitting still and now she was going out of her mind. Dean could see it happening the same way she used to get stir crazy when it took too long to find a job. This was different though. He couldn't count on two hands how many times she'd come running to him or Malcolm in utter panic. "I swear to _God_ there was something out there!" Eyes wide, hands shaking and heart racing she'd lead them to the spot where inevitably there was nothing to see.

Thing was, she wasn't the only one. There was something out there, and there wasn't a doubt about it. Malcolm had seen it and come back shaken, if not panicked like Cal had been. "It's nothing Dean, just my mind playing tricks on me. Cal's paranoia's getting the best of me. It's fine. Really." Stubborn old coot had convinced himself into believing that it was better all around to play in to Cal's ruse. Not that he was going to let on or anything. Apparently is was better to pretend nothing was wrong until whatever it was snuck up on them and it was too late. Well, not if Dean had any say in the matter.

Malcolm was too set in his ways to give an inch. He wasn't going to give Cal any cause to worry. She was still too scared as it was. Not that Dean could argue with that particular line of thinking. He didn't like seeing her like that, skittish enough to jump at any old shadow. Twice now she'd managed to stab Malcolm with the knives she'd taken to practicing with. Those damned butter knives looked like they hurt too, worse coming out than going in. Malcolm was taking it all in stride but they were all worried about this quick-to-react-without-thinking bit she was on. She'd have run Dean through too if he hadn't become extra careful about making a little noise so she could hear him coming. At this point it was a necessity of life. He hadn't seen her that jumpy since the day they'd first met, and circumstances had been just as dire then as they were now. The difference _then_ had been her unwavering faith in her own ability to get the job done; her faith in him and in Sam to keep her safe from harm in the case that she should fail. Where was that faith now? On the floor of that tiny little closet where her family had locked her up, waiting for Malcolm to get her the hell out is where.

"When the hell did Cal-freaking-O'Sulivan start to believe that a bunch of snot nosed kids were better at the job than we are?" This from Sam, the one call Dean placed out to him out of desperation. Little brother had always been better at all that emotional crap, anyway. Maybe he'd see whatever it was Dean was missing here. Apparently not. "I dunno Sam. I mean, I was kind of hoping that 'screw you, I'm SheRa the Princess of Power here to kick your ass so take a number already' attitude would come back with her ability to defend herself. She's been throwing dull things at a wall for over a week now and getting them stuck in the process. I'm getting a little worried that the number I've taken is for front row seats at my own funeral here." Not that she'd hurt him on purpose, but what with the seeing things where no one else did and not taking the time to really look at what she was trying to impale… well he was starting to get the picture. Red-blooded, non-self-healing dudes were no longer at the top of the food chain.

"I dunno, man. Seems to me like the only one who's going to give you a straight answer on this one has got to be Malcolm. What's he got to say about all this anyway?" A whole crap-load of nothing was what. "You remember that dude from the Highlander movie? The guy who to took the strong, silent bit a little too seriously? Yeah, well I'm starting to think maybe the guy who wrote the movie might've been acquainted with our immortal dude." Deep sigh of the Winchester variety echoed over thousands of miles across the airwaves between cell phones. "Define 'nothing' Dean." But he didn't want to put into words the one half-drunken conversation they'd had about their broken badass girl.

Malcolm had found an ancient bottle of whiskey, or three, that he'd supposedly stashed away back in the day and cracked it open during Dean's shift. It had to be some seriously potent stuff because about halfway through the first bottle Malcolm sat down next to Dean by the campfire and stared morosely into the flames like maybe if he squinted hard enough he could find the answers he needed somewhere inside them. It was the only hint he'd ever given that he might not be the immortal man of stone.

"I broke her Dean," And you know, as far as drunken confessions, this was not exactly the best opener all things considered. "I broke her because I _had_ to. It was the only way to move this thing forward and end it all, start over." Once the words started coming out it was like a dam being breached. The confession just flowed out, plowing over whoever was nearest with their unimaginable truth. "Wait, what do you mean you _broke_ her? I thought her crazy-ass second cousins twice removed were the ones who did this to her…" But Malcolm only shook his head and motored on. "Now I'm stuck, Dean, because I don't know how to fix her." Oh, fantastic! More good news. What the hell, man? What. The. _Hell_?

"I honestly thought she'd be able to do it herself, like she always does… but she can't. I mean, look at her. _Clearly_ she can't." Some wild gesturing toward the caravan where Cal was sleeping, even then, tossing and turning so violently through her nightmares that the whole thing shook on the four wheels that served as meager foundations. "Yeah, man, 'cause fixing herself is totally an option right now. Really?" Was the guy really being serious, or was he just screwing with him here? All Dean got was an _'I know, right?'_ toss of the hands up into the air. _Not exactly being helpful for a guy who's supposed to be a wise old dude, are ya buddy?_

"Now because I'm the guy responsible for this, and let's face facts here: I might not have been the one who _hurt_ her, but I was supposed to be the one to _protect_ her so I might as well have done it myself" _O-kay, note to self: keep centuries old immortals away from well aged, high-test whiskey. _The guy was taking cryptic self-blame to an extreme. "I have to fix it. I have to make her better. Only I can't either. I can't _fix_ her because I'm as broken as she is. How the hell am I supposed to make this better when I can't even figure out how to fix _myself_?" Great, so now their strong, silent type isn't as strong and silent as they were giving him credit for. "Well I don't mean to pick at straws here, dude, but it sure would help to know what exactly 'it' is that we need to fix." Dean never would get a straight answer, but he sure would live with the questions long enough.

* * *

The grass was cool with early morning dew beneath her finger tips when she sat down next to the river. She was exhausted, but the dreams wouldn't let her rest. _Might as well face the demons in my head on my own terms._ This had been the initial motive behind her early morning jaunt through the trees. Really she just wanted to prove to herself once and for all that there was nothing out there, stalking her through the brush. Her father had not raised a week kitten of a girl even though she might have been feeling like one lately. Smart guy, her Dad, because he'd also taught her that kittens had claws and teeth. Maybe it was time to take them out to play. _Sure would help if I could figure out who to hurt with them._

The river was only a few minutes from the clearing. It might as well have been on an entirely different continent by the time Cal got there. She didn't like being out of sight of the things that had become familiar, the people who she had recently come to believe as safe. By the time she got to the muddy bank by the sparkling water all she wanted to do was sit down and cry, wishing for her Daddy to come and make things right. _Might as well be curled up under those blankets in my old closet at the farmhouse, wishing for Dad to come and kill the vampires. _Only this time it wasn't as simple as a nest of vampires. This time it was actual people. No. Not just people. No. These were her own bat-shit crazy relatives. _A day in the life… right? _Yeah, fantastic! No sarcasm there at all.

Maybe it was because they'd locked her in a closet with that poltergeist. Maybe it had triggered some sort of post-traumatic fear with the similarity of the situation to that night when she'd lost her Mom to the Earl's need for revenge. Cal really didn't know, but she sure as hell didn't like it. She didn't usually dwell all that much on sadness. Oh, sure, she'd take a minute and acknowledge it. Jacob had raised her not to wallow in it, though. Instead he'd shown her how to move past the angst, channel the anger that came afterwards productively and deal with the problem. It was a pretty effective way to move forward. Maybe not the healthiest, but certainly better for a girl than sitting around on her keister gazing sadly out over the water. _What the hell is the matter with you girl? You should be raging with righteous anger, ready to teach those freaks a thing or two about family and values. _Only, there didn't seem to be any way to jump start the anger or get past that nearly all-consuming fear.

Every time a little breeze blew and rustled the greenery around she would hear the far off howl of restless spirits. When clouds dotted the horizon or blocked the warmth of the sun she felt the ice cold touch of preternatural fingers on her skin. Malcolm knew. As if possessed with the ability to read her mind, he would watch her intently paying silent witness to her tortured thoughts. She couldn't take the solemn looks he leveled on her anymore. It just added depression to agony. He carried a heavy burden of guilt but she didn't have it in her to relieve him of it, already weighted down with too much of her own baggage.

Dean, on the other hand, was pushing all kinds of other buttons. There was no elephant in the room when he was awake. It wasn't unheard of for him to stand at the door of the wagon, look her up and down and ask her very bluntly: _What's going on in that twisted little head of yours Cal?_ Not that she answered him ever. Dean would just nod as if she had answered him and then he'd reach into the drawer where the cutlery was kept and come out with a handful of butter knives. His offering toward peace for the goddess of war in her moment of unrest.

Hours of tossing the damned things at the side of the train car had left the one wall splintered and mangled, a mirror image of what her insides felt like. As glad as she was that she could at the very least throw a knife to defend herself, it was getting old. The urge to curl up into a ball and just hide was getting stronger and harder to fight. _Would it really be so bad? Couldn't I just give in to the urge to try and sleep this feeling away? _Maybe if she thought it would actually work. Hard to believe it would when every tiny change to their surroundings was enough to illicit heart exploding terror.

The snap of a twig underfoot, the crackle of dried leaves and suddenly she just knew the bushes were teeming with freaky kids waiting to tie her up and cart her off, back to that damned closet. _Fine. Let them take me. Good luck breaking something that's already in pieces you little freaks. _And just to make it easier on them, she actually did curl up in the grass intent on just waiting for the inevitable. No point in arguing, no point in fighting the inevitable right?

"Huh." A puff of breath, a very male clearing of the throat and all at once the world was back to what she could trust. "Um, what the hell are you doing? Whatever this is, it's really friggin' weird, even for you." Ah yes. Well no one could accuse the guy of beating around the bush, could they? "Anyone ever tell you that you've got the hell of a way with words Winchester?" Of course they had. Tact was not exactly his specialty. Ignoring the blatantly obvious annoyance it tended to incite in people though, that he had down to an art form. "Alright She-Ra. Out with it already. What's going on?" She didn't bother to open her eyes or keep the sigh from passing her lips. "I don't want to talk about it, alright?" So far but not talking about it she'd been able to maintain the illusion that this was all in her head. If it was in her head, then it couldn't possibly be real, right? Exactly.

"Come on, Cal. Cough it up. You're not the 'lay down and take it' kind." Nice. "Yeah, like you've got a clue. You took off remember? Maybe things've changed a bit all this time you've been running. You ever think of that?" Yeah, lashing out felt good. Better not think to hard about the why behind it. _You might not like the answers you come up with, girl. _"Ouch!" And the jerk had the nerve to laugh at her. Not much of a laugh mind you, but a laugh all the same. "Ok, so maybe I deserve that." Well at least he was admitting to it. "But I don't buy for a second that you changed this much just because I took off. Besides, the way Sam tells it you got mad not depressed." _Right_. Sam. Traitor. She had the chance to entertain a few uncharitable thoughts toward the youngest Winchester brother as Dean sat down next to her and nudged her to sitting up too. She wasn't too proud to shove him to show her displeasure. Unfortunately there was no satisfaction in the move. It didn't faze him a whit.

"I'm waiting." Was all she got for her trouble. "I'm not letting it go this time either so the sooner you get to talking the sooner we can get this over with." Great, the Caveman was back. Oh she just _loved_ that particular part of Dean's personality, didn't she? It brought out the best in her; temper that is. Ok fine. He wanted it? He was getting it. "Hm. Okay. Well, let's see shall we? Where should I start? A lifetime of hunting and all it took was a weekend with 'the fam' to break me. Oh, and make no mistake Dean. This is pretty broken, even for me. Oh, and let's not forget the part where I'm related to the Children of the Corn. That's my particular favorite, right there. The only living relatives I have are freaky ass kids who are more comfortable hurting people than hunting, which is what they were supposedly raised to do." At this point it would have been more comforting to find out Hannibal Lector was her grandfather because at least there was a way to beat _him._

"I get it." There was nothing comforting about the way he looked at her, like none of it mattered. Like she was the only reason any of this was worth it. The weight of it made her pulse jump, her breath hard to catch. At that very moment all that mattered to Dean were the blue, blue eyes he was staring into, the freckles that dotted both her cheeks and met over the bridge of her nose, the perfect bow of her lips that held him fixated, thirsty for their taste. "You little idiot. How long have we been doing what we do? Decades. Centuries if you add up all the years Malcolm's been at the job. You think a couple of punk kids are going to get the best of us now?" It didn't matter that she'd been trying to tell herself the same damned thing. What mattered was that she was too afraid of what those punk kids were capable of to believe it. Also, she was all too familiar with the movie franchise.

Cal was oblivious to the bedroom eyes he was trying to distract her with. "I don't know if you've seen any of the movies but generally the damned kids keep coming back." Okay, he could understand where she was coming from. He and Sam had a hard enough time wrapping their heads around having a demon stalking their family. Finding out she was related to some freaky, messed up people who lived like they invented the idea of cultism had to be at least as bad a trip. But Cal had to know that the kids, her family? They didn't stand a chance against them, whatever the hell it was they wanted. She just needed a distraction, a reason to stop obsessing for a few minutes until she could come back to the problem clear headed. _Yeah, sure there Winchester. Whatever you need to believe to justify what you're thinking of doing._

All cocky and over sure of himself, as always, he grinned mischievously at her and tugged the elastic out of her hair. _Oh _she thought with a start. This was a side of Dean she hadn't seen since that day the FBI arrested him at the farm over a year before. "Yeah, well I don't know if you noticed but I'm pretty damned good at what I do." He dug his fingers into the loose waves, cupping her head in his palms and tilting her head back just enough to give him freer access. "And _you…_" The steady voice had now gone hoarse and low as he leaned in so she could all but _taste_ his words. "_You_ are _legendary_." Hot, hungry lips mouthed a path from collarbone to earlobe as he growled out his praise. "The great Caitlin O'Sulivan." He kept talking as his mouth and hands roved, doing no wrong anywhere they went. "Hustler," he twined his fingers in hers, paying homage to her skill. "Hunter," one hand gently traced the path of her spine at the small of her back. "Brawler," both palms gripped her perfect little bum, ripping a wanton little moan from the depths of her body. "And _sexiest_ damned woman that ever lived." One rough, dirty little move and he pulled her up against him hard. There was no space between them, touching as they were from toe to forehead and everywhere in between.

"Screw the Children of the Corn. If they're really that good then they should know better who to pick their fights with." He growled, shifting his weight so she could feel every inch of him before taking the dive and claiming her mouth with his own.

As far as distractions went, that one was pretty damned effective. Her response was instinctual and immediate, no thought required. They'd moved along the steps of this familiar dance time and again so often that she didn't have to think, just move. Her mind shut down and her body took over. Body melding with Dean's as if they were meant to be one person, writhing against him slowly _just so_ in that way that never failed to make his legs shake with the effort to keep on his feet.

"I've been dreaming of this… _God_ I've wanted you so bad for _so long_!"

She had no response for him, had gone too far over the edge for that now. The way she moved spoke louder than any words she might have tried to use. Dean would have been able to tell if this wasn't something she wanted. Cal wanted. She wanted him with a ferocious urgency that took them both by surprise.

He had her pinned between his thighs and the tree they'd been using for shade when the sound registered somewhere in the back of his otherwise occupied mind. A sharp and sudden _clicketyclick._ Buried deep inside this moment with her, Dean felt his blood run cold with the realization that someone was behind him, armed and ready to shoot and he had no way to defend himself or Cal.

"Cal?" A whispered inquiry. _Did you hear it too?_ Because there was always the possibility that Dean might be losing his mind enough to have imagined it. He shouldn't have worried. She was way ahead of him. Not a moment had passed since he'd handed her the hilt of his Bowie knife without it being within her immediate reach.

He felt her forehead lifting ever so slightly from the dip of his shoulder just long enough to sneak a look through her hair at whoever it was that had dared to intrude on their intimate moment. There might have been the slightest little smile dancing at the corners of her lips as her one move jerked them both to the point of having to hold on or fall. The quiet whoosh of the knife slicing through the air to her intended target the only sound to be heard until the sharp end thudded as it hit home.

"We good?" Less a question than the shape of words mouthed across the delicate shell of her ear. "Mmhm." A sigh that was nearly impossible to hear over the crash of the body hitting the forest floor to become nothing more than a corpse beside Dean's foot.

He would have turned his head to the side, would have risked a look at the body if only to find out who it was, but she stopped him cold. "I… I can't believe…" Couldn't believe what? That they kids had found her? That she'd nailed the shot? "What?" Gently asked into the curve of her shoulder as he held her, careful not to break the already broken. Cal had begun to tense in his arms as the moments passed. Something had changed, but nothing could prepare Dean for what he had coming. "I can't believe you left me like you did, when we both already knew I'm capable of _that_."

The shove was rough and tumble and the hand extended to point toward the heap of handiwork that had just saved their lives. There, lying in the dirt and dried leaves, was a boy in his late teens. He would have been writhing in agony were it not for the way the Bowie knife had run him through the shoulder and pinned him to the ground. She hadn't killed the kid, but there hadn't been any mercy either. Dean doubted the kid could pry himself off the ground by himself.

Cal didn't stop to ask the kid any questions, which would have been the sane thing to do. Nope. The girl was mad as hell as she stalked off with a "_you deal with this_" before hiking back towards the clearing. "Okay." As pleased as he was to see her go from complacent to pissed off in the old Cal's style, no matter if it was a step in the right direction, Dean wasn't all that sure _what_ exactly had just happened. _Great, now she grows the backbone. Perfect timing as usual. _

It always had been two steps forward and a dozen back with her. Maybe sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone. Lord only knew it could have been worse. At least she'd taken her frustrations out on the kid. Having her storm off like that was better than being on the receiving end of a black eye any day.

"You alone, kid?" Probably smarter to figure out what was going on with the gun toting kid first anyway. "I know better than to talk to the likes of _you_." Well, that confirmed it. The kid had that O'Sulivan snarl going for him. Cal really was related to a bunch of little psychos. "Hm, you know… if I were in your shoes right now I might think twice about biting the hand. Then again, I'm not the one nailed to the ground. So, what would I know?" The boy didn't flinch when Dean ripped the knife out of his shoulder. His sneer like a promise of what would come later as retribution for the wrong doing the kid was suffering. Well, this was going to be a fun walk back.

It wasn't like the kid could take on a grown man like Dean. He was all long lanky limbs, lithe in the way he'd always associated with Cal. He wasn't blond, like the crazy kids in the movies. He had auburn hair, leaning more toward brown, much like Cal's. There were other small similarities in the cheekbones and the small wrists but there was only one thing that tied this kid to Cal without a doubt. The eyes were without a doubt a family trait. They were the same shape and ever-changing stormy blue that he'd seen in the one picture she kept of her father. The same ones that had caught and held Dean's attention from the moment he and Cal had met.

"No funny stuff O'Sulivan or I put buckshot through your other shoulder, got me?" Such a dark look for such a young kid. Not that he cared. He just wanted to get back to the clearing to see for himself if it was swarming with a bunch of blue-eyed, insane mini-me versions of Cal. "Nice and slow, and keep it moving. I'll bet cash money you know exactly where we're headed." This wasn't exactly what he and Malcolm had hoped for when they'd suggested confronting the pipsqueaks on their own terms, but at least they had the home court advantage. Whatever the case, it looked as if the big show was about to go down. Running wasn't an option any more. Short of killing the murderous brats off, there weren't a whole lot of options left. Dean couldn't help but feel a little underprepared.

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